Ships Ahoy!
by lilac-kat
Summary: What do you get when you throw OlivexOscar, OprahxO'Donahue, OttoxDr.O, OrenxOctavia, OzxPolly, OrchidxOri, and more all together into one story? Basically a fan-made (and slight AU) history of Odd Squad! Both the prequel and sequel to my first story, "Olive's Last Partner". RATED K BECAUSE THEY'RE ONLY KIDS, PEOPLE.
1. (Prologue) The Uncovering

**A/N: Happy one-year anniversary to Odd Squad! ! ! As a tribute, even though I haven't yet finished my other stories, I am now beginning what could potentially become my biggest fanfic project yet. As the bio explained, this fanfic will serve as prequel, sequel, and even sideplots to my first fanfic on here, "Olive's Last Partner". Hope you all enjoy the beginning and come back later for more! :D**

 **DISCLAIMERS:**

 **1) I do not own Odd Squad, nor am I connected with it in any way, no matter how much I wish I was.**

 **2) I may have kickstarted the OS shipping with "Olive's Last Partner", held a contest to see who could guess my ships, and gone on to write a (hopefully) novel-length fanfic about these ships, BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN I SUPPORT ODD SQUAD SHIPPING. I have fun with innocent coupling in my stories, yes, but beyond the types of "couples" you might see in an elementary school social environment (or in classic literature/movies like _To Kill a Mockingbird_ or _The Secret Garden_ ), I do not at all approve of hardcore mature-content shipping in this fandom. Especially when it branches out to involve the actors themselves. They're kids, for heaven's sake. That's why I'm keeping my shipping K+ rated at the most, although most of it is probably worthy of only a K rating.**

 **3) The main purpose of this story aside from shipping is to explain what the Odd Squad universe would be like if Olive and Oscar had indeed been partners, as was introduced in "Olive's Last Partner"; also to provide a plausible (at least to me) recounting of the events during Ms. O's days in investigation. More DISCLAIMERS coming later, otherwise I'd bore you all to death.**

Prologue: The Uncovering

Olive and Oscar knew from the beginning it was only a matter of time before they were found out.

What they hadn't known was _when_.

Nearly a year had passed since the boiler room incident back in early August of 2014. A lot had happened since then, not only for the two of them but also for many of the other agents working here: Oren, Olaf, Octavia, Oz, Orchid, Obfusco, O'Callaghan, and O'Donnell, to name but a few. Not that Olive or Oscar knew about any of this other drama, or even cared. At first, with exception to a few reckless moments here and there, they had focused everything they could on keeping _it_ a secret from Ms. O and Otto. Especially Otto. But as time went on and Otto never suspected, they relaxed their guard a bit. Olive stopped pretending to be overly annoyed with Oscar, who in turn stopped by her desk to chat more frequently than before. With Otto never suspecting a thing beyond cordially innocent friendship, it seemed he would never find out anyway.

Or so they thought. Until the day Oscarbot 10 destroyed all of their badges.

"It's nearly dinnertime," Olive commented with a sigh as she checked her watch. "How much longer is this going to take?"

Otto, who was sitting farthest away from the workshop entrance, craned his neck to get a better look at what Odenbacker, the Odd Squad repairman and carpenter, was doing at the moment. "Dunno. He took forever just to replace _my_ badge. Probably be awhile," he snorted.

Olive made a face and nodded, but Oscar, seated at the other end of the bench, tried to be fair. "Well, look on the bright side. Odenbacker did just save us from a rogue Oscarbot with his, um, whatever-you-call-it. He's good at his job and he means well."

"Oscar's right," Olive agreed with a smile. Sandwiched in between her companions, she playfully propped up her elbows to rest on each of their shoulders. "Plus, it's kind of like getting the rest of the day off if we can't work without badges."

"Agreed!" Otto chuckled. Then his face lit up. "I just had a brilliant moment! Listen to this:" Shaking off Olive's arm, he proceeded to break out into song about it, parodied off Soundcheck's latest hit: "Even if the tenth Oscarbot / Destroyed our ba-a-adges / We still got Odenba-a-acker / who really likes fla-a-adges / Are you ready for…"

As Otto sang on, Olive rolled her eyes and tried to act annoyed, but in the end she had to smile. Oscar noticed, too. "I thought you hated Soundcheck," he teased.

Olive shrugged. "Eh. I still do, but I've learned to tolerate them. And it was actually kind of fun singing that song in concert last week."

"I could tell. Otto gave me his tickets and I went to see it. You really were great up there, heh."

"You think so?" Olive turned to look up at him, eyes dancing.

Oscar winked and put his arm over her shoulder. "I know so."

Olive gave him a look. "Being a flirt doesn't suit you, you know."

"Whatever you say, Olive," Oscar sighed, pretending to be offended. Laughing, Olive laid her head in the crook of his arm.

Which was when both of them noticed Otto had long since stopped singing and was staring at them with jaw dropped.

The laughing grin disappeared from Olive's face. _Oh, no…_ Simultaneously, Oscar bit his lip. _Here it comes…_

For a few seconds, Otto could do nothing but move his mouth soundlessly. Then he found the words, and out they exploded. "Who—where—what are you—when did this—how did I not—WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME ABOUT THIS?!"

Olive felt a sinking feeling inside her. One ill-timed careless moment, and now…why, oh _why_ hadn't they been more careful? "Otto, listen, I can explain—"

"It's true, then, isn't it? You two are—oh my god, and to think I didn't see it before! I'll bet everyone else at Odd Squad knows about this, don't they!"

Oscar winced. "Well, not exactly _everyone,_ but—"

"And to think I thought that…you guys realize we're _kids_ , right? You know what, no, you probably don't care! It's gotta be against the rules to be—be—" he made some weird hand gesture and practically gagged, "— _together!_ "

Olive had heard enough. "Oh yeah, like you totally don't have a thing going on with Dr. O—"

Oscar did a double take. " _What?!_ "

Otto turned bright red. "How did you even—"

"I've told you before, when have you ever kept a secret in your life? Obviously never!"

"But that's different—!"

"WHAT IN JACKALOPE'S NAME IS GOING _ON_ HERE?! ?! ?!"

The trio fell silent. Towering over them was none other than the boss herself, Ms. O. Quickly they all began talking at the same time, but an angry gesture for silence shut them up.

"Now, what is this all abo—? Ohh…" Ms. O trailed off, looking from Otto to Olive and Oscar, then back to Otto, and finally back to Olive and Oscar again. "Oh. He found out about you two, didn't he?"

"You _know?_ " all three agents blurted out in bewilderment.

"Of course I do! Why does everyone always forget about the security cameras? I saw everything that happened last August in the boiler room."

Otto gave the two a sidelong look. "So that's how long this has been going on, huh?"

Olive and Oscar exchanged glances. "Well, not exactly…" Oscar began.

"It's rather complicated…" Olive tried to explain.

"…really, things have gone on longer than that…"

"…but then we disliked each other for awhile…"

"…well, _she_ disliked _me_ …"

They trailed off. "It would take too long to explain," they both finished in unison.

Ms. O tilted her head meaningfully in the direction of Odenbacker's workshop. "Looks like you've got time."

Otto gave them a pointed _you-better-explain-yourselves-or-else_ look.

Olive sighed. "Ms. O's right. Shall we, Oscar?"

Oscar nodded, but before the two of them could say another word, Otto held up a hand. "Just one question before you start. Ms. O?" He raised an eyebrow. "Has this, y'know, ever happened in our Odd Squad history? With two agents, um… _coupling?_ "

Ms. O opened her mouth, then stopped. Over a hundred years worth of memories began to press against the edges of her mind. It was happening again. She needed to get back to her office and process them all, or things would go bad, fast.

But she managed to conceal everything with a knowing smile. "Oh, you don't even know the half of it, Otto. Some of us are over hundreds of years old, after all. Just be thankful Odd Squad has never hired secretaries." And with that she turned on her heel and sauntered out, leaving behind an utterly bewildered Otto and a still rather flustered young couple.

The moment she was out of sight, Ms. O collapsed against the wall and let out a sigh. Today was the wrong day for everything to hit her all at once like it always did. She'd have to go through the same routine yet again, as she'd been doing for thirty-one years now: lock up the office, hide behind her desk, let the memories and regrets overwhelm her until she lost control of all emotions, then return to work nineteen minutes later as her normal self, like nothing had ever happened. But today she didn't want to go through all that. It had been such a good day, and she couldn't allow herself to break her three-month-long streak of not having an episode.

So maybe today was the day. Maybe it was time to call him.

Ms. O pulled her badge off and opened her phone. Her finger pressed the '8', then the '3', and hovered over the 'Send' icon. But before she could bring herself to press it, she felt the first memory hit her like a rat-held battering ram on the great oaken doors of her mind. Her entire body went slack and she fell to the floor, the badge phone dropping from her hand. The trembling started. It was too late to get back to her office now. She'd just have to endure it here and hope no one saw. No calling him, no trying to stop it, no going back anymore.

It was starting.


	2. Part 1: One Ship

X X X

* * *

 **Part 1: One Ship**

 _ **1868-1984**_

* * *

X X X

* * *

Featured Episodes and Stories:

"Fistful of Fruit Juice"

"All Mixed Up!"

"Patterns of the Past"

"Totally Odd Squad"

"O vs. the Ballcano"

"The One That Got Away"


	3. The Brainstormer

**A/N HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MS. O! :D Fyi the Part 1 thing is not a real chapter, no. It's just a separation thingie to give you readers an idea of the time frame of the first set of chapters. There will be three main parts to this story, with a couple interludes and an epilogue at the end. Yes, I've over-planned this fanfic just a little XD**

 **Announcement: On request from several people, there _will_ be another CONTEST coming up after I finish this story. Like with OLP, I will be hiding references to... _something_...all throughout this fanfic, so be on the lookout!**

 **And now for another one of these...**

 **DISCLAIMER: Yes, I do realize that Odd Squad deliberately doesn't explain certain things about the show in order to keep the whole "equality" thing going. No, I am not completely disregarding this by offering my own explanations as to some of the characters' backstories. I totally respect the TV writers for not wanting to go into things like who the characters' families are; the problem is my story doesn't really work if I don't invent these kinds of backstories. Plus, it's only a fanfic. So don't judge me. :) I promise I'll still be keeping certain things vague.**

The Brainstormer

"Op _raaaaah!_ "

Eight-year-old Oprah, upstairs in her tiny attic bedroom, groaned. Picking up her paintbrush, she resumed her work and pretended not to hear.

"Oprah, darling! There's a telegram for you!"

"Leave me alone, Auntie," she muttered under her breath.

"It's from the Odd Squad!"

 _Oh, no._ Oprah dropped her paintbrush, splattering red paint all over her sign. A swear escaped her lips.

"Oprah, I won't tolerate you hiding in your bedroom, dear!" Auntie May called, a subtle hint of frustration evident under all the superficial sweetness. "Come downstairs right this instant!"

Oprah sighed. It was no use. If she ignored her for any longer, Auntie would eventually come upstairs herself and discover the grand scheme. Nothing was worth losing a year's worth of hard work and imagination to her meddling aunt. "Coming, Auntie!" Oprah answered, putting away the paintbrush and standing up to brush off her old calico dress. Carefully she climbed through the trapdoor in the corner and down the ladder, careful to avoid splinters since she hated wearing her black boots and stockings indoors (much to Auntie's dismay).

Her feet had barely touched the floor below when there was Auntie May towering over her, waving the abominable telegram envelope in her plump hand. A triumphant grin was on her face. "I just knew you'd make it in, darling! Would you like to open your acceptance letter now, or wait until your uncle and cousins come back from town?"

Well, _that_ was a no-brainer. Uncle Chester only pretended to care about her accomplishments, and she wasn't in the mood for the inevitable taunts from Lunette and Molly. "I should rather open it now, Auntie. The sooner the better."

"Oh, alright. Here it is, dear." Auntie May looked on with gushing approval as Oprah slid her finger under the tab and tore the envelope open. "I always said you were a smart girl, you know. And you may have fought against me on taking the exams, but is it not _such_ a great honor to be accepted into the Odd Squad Academy—"

"I failed the exam."

Auntie May stopped. "I'm sorry?"

Oprah held up the telegram with a smug smile. "I failed the exam," she repeated. "The telegram expresses their sincere regret that I was not qualified enough to be accepted into the Odd Squad Academy. Besides, I should have gotten a letter by post if I were accepted—"

"Let me see that!" Auntie May all but snatched the telegram out of Oprah's hands to read it for herself. Her grey eyes widened as they skimmed over the choppy lines of text. "There must be some mistake. This simply cannot be right!"

"It doesn't matter," Oprah countered. "I've told you before, Auntie. I _do not want_ to join the Odd Squad. I have other plans for myself."

Auntie May sniffed. "Other plans?" she said coldly. "Don't be ridiculous, child, you're only eight years old. You cannot even put your hair up properly yet."

"I'm a gifted child. You said so just now."

"And what might these 'plans' involve?"

Oprah puffed out her chest, brushed aside her as-yet unbraided hair, and held her chin high. "I'm going to be an entrepreneur."

Auntie May burst out laughing. "An entrepreneur! What a ridiculous notion! You might as well forget the idea immediately, then. Gifted girls like you belong on the Odd Squad, not out on the streets soliciting rubbish. No matter. I'll schedule you for the next exam right away…"

With that, Auntie May bustled away into the kitchen. Moments later she called over her shoulder, "And you can march right back up to your room without any supper for your insolence, young lady. While I am raising you under my roof, you must learn to be obedient. Need I remind you of your miserable origins?"

"No, Auntie," Oprah answered with thinly veiled sarcasm. Without another word she trudged up the ladder steps and shut the trapdoor. If there was one thing Auntie May Casser liked to talk about besides that stupid Odd Squad, it was how she and Uncle Chester had heroically taken her into their family. Oprah had been told she was found six years ago near Lake Erie from somewhere across the border, presumably as a runaway from the American South. How she ended up there all by herself with no memory of anything but her name was anyone's guess, but the Casser family (or at least Auntie May) was quick to take her in and bring her up "as a true Canadian lady." Which seemed to mean getting her into the Odd Squad as soon as possible. It had been Molly's idea originally—she was the right age, her name started with an O, and she was smart enough to make it into the Academy—and Auntie May had latched onto it ever since. Contrary to her family's belief, leaving home wasn't what bothered Oprah about the idea. Auntie May had never shown her any real affection; Uncle Chester had never shown her much of anything at all; and Lunette and Molly, ages eighteen and thirteen respectively, were constantly treating her as "too young" to know or do anything. No, what bothered her was Odd Squad itself. Its agents were always prancing about proudly, regaling their tales of fighting oddness and bragging about all the privileges they got as kids working for the government. Especially that one blonde girl with the wires in her mouth, she was the worst. Honest hard work was more in Oprah's interests, which was why she had deliberately sabotaged her own exam last month.

Once alone in her room, Oprah headed straight for her wooden chest of clothes. Moving aside some stockings to expose the old milkcan in the corner, she unscrewed the lid and ladled out a cup of fruit juice for herself. Never mind bed without any supper. Her secret juice stash from the Shmumbers would get her through the evening just fine. Plus, she had work to do.

By the time the sun set, Oprah's dress, hands, and even the bedroom floor were all covered in a rainbow of paint. But the end result was worth the mess. She now had a rectangular sign with apples, bananas, pears, oranges, cherries, and all sorts of fruit displayed on it. With the booth already built and sitting in Mr. Shmumber's warehouse, and his daughter's agreement to be hired as an assistant, Oprah's dream of running a fruit stand was so close to becoming a reality, she could almost taste it.

"All I need now is the fruit," she said with a grin.


	4. The Entrepreneur

**A/N Wishing Agent Olive a huge happy birthday today! :D**

The Entrepreneur

The official job description of an average Odd Squad agent was "investigation of anything strange, weird, and especially odd." It was Agent O'Donahue's opinion, however, that the word "new" ought to be added to the description. Particularly if he and his partner, Agent Olga, were being sent to check out the new fruit stand on Main Street. Even more particularly if that fruit stand was apparently owned and managed by an eight-year-old girl.

"She looks familiar," Olga muttered to him, peering at the girl and her stand across the street. Then she snapped her fingers. "Now I remember. I saw her at the last entrance exams for the Academy. Hmm, she must have failed it if she's still out here as a _pedestrian_."

O'Donahue raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He still found it rather rude of his partner to call the average citizen a _pedestrian_ , saying the word as if it were the grossest thing in the world. On the other hand, Olga had been an agent for two years shy of a century now, and O'Donahue, a relative newbie at only three years, would be insulting her to question her judgement.

"I don't know," he eventually replied. "The average kid doesn't go and set up her own business. Perhaps she failed the exams on purpose."

Oops. That last comment earned him one of Olga's signature patronizing looks. "Only a simpleton would do something like _that_. Clearly she wasn't good enough to make it in." Satisfied there were no oncoming buggies, Olga started across the street. "Come along, my dear partner. Let's see what she's up to."

Quickly O'Donahue hurried after her, and moments later stood in front of the new stand. Up close, it actually looked quite impressive. So did the girl, now staring them down with a suspicious look in her bright brown eyes, her wavy brown hair blowing freely in the breeze.

"If you're recruiting, I don't want to hear it," she said sternly.

Olga scoffed. "Oh, please. Like you would ever—"

"So you own a business, then?" O'Donahue interrupted. Something told him to risk Olga's temper and get her to stop with the insults. "What's your name?"

"Oprah," the girl answered, tipping the edge of her bonnet. "And yes, I sell fruit."

"Can you tell us about it so far?"

His politeness was rewarded with an eager smile. "Absolutely! I've always loved fruit and fruit juice, and I wanted to share that with other people. So I came up with this idea for a fruit stand business a year ago, and I have worked on it ever since."

"Where do you even get all the fruit from?" Olga ventured with a dubious look.

"Mr. Shmumber. He has family who own orchards and trading companies out west, and he has access to a _lot_ of fruit, but never bothered to sell it locally. So I offered to, and in return I pay him a share of the profits."

O'Donahue let out a low whistle. This girl had thought of everything. "And you're doing this all by yourself?"

Oprah shook her head. "Nope. His daughter Yucks is my employee. She manages the storehouse," she explained with a nod over her shoulder.

"And how old is _she?_ "

"Four. She's really good at it, too. I told her to organize the fruit yesterday, and came back later to find everything alphabetized, priced per kilogram, and sorted by color, size, and amount."

 _And at just four years old…_ O'Donahue thought in awe. _If only her name started with an O, we might have two potential recruits instead of just one._ "This is really impressive, Oprah. The Odd Squad could use some more kids with your talents."

Her face darkened. "I told you, I don't want to hear about it. I have absolutely no intention of getting recruited, or even getting involved with all your oddness. Now, is that all you wanted to talk to me about, or are you actually going to buy some fruit?"

Olga had been eyeing two kiwis lying at the front of the display, and now spoke up. "I'll take one of those kiwis. Might as well have a snack for the road." She dug a coin out of her pocket and flicked it at Oprah, who caught it expertly. Olga then snatched a kiwi without any thanks. "Now if you'll excuse us, _we've_ got very important top-secret work to do. Don't we, O'Donahue, dear?"

O'Donahue winced slightly, barely enough for Oprah to have heard it. "I'll, um, be there in a minute, Olga. Right now I, er, want to discuss the business with this girl a little longer."

"Suit yourself," Olga sniffed. "If you hurry, I shall save half of my kiwi for you." Then spinning on her heel, she strode off.

They watched her go. "Your partner seems to be a pleasant young lady," Oprah remarked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

O'Donahue sighed. "You get used to her. Olga's been on the squad for almost a century now, so she's entitled to brag."

Oprah raised an eyebrow. "You really believe that."

"Well, she _has_ had ninety-eight years of experience, and I've only got three. Talking of which, she mentioned seeing you at the exams. I don't mean to pry, but…why are you not interested in joining the squad? I mean, I meant it when I said you would be a great addition. The exams weren't too difficult for you, were they?"

"Of course not," Oprah scoffed. "The exams were too easy. I just don't want to join."

"But why not?"

Oprah pointed in the direction Olga had gone. "Because of kids like _her_. All you agents think you're so much better than everyone else! You don't know anything about honest hard work. Yucks and I, we do. I spent over a year organizing my business with her help, and next we plan to revolutionize the juice industry. We're making an honest living, and we don't need your Odd Squad to do it!"

O'Donahue opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. He thought much of what she said about Odd Squad was untrue and unfair, but it would be pointless for him to say so. Besides, she wasn't wrong about Olga. For all he knew, the only agents she'd known _were_ the egotistical ones. "Alright, so you refuse to be persuaded. However," he smiled slightly, "maybe I refuse to give up."

Oprah gave him a wary look. "Now don't tell me you're doing this because you fancy me, Agent…?"

"O'Donahue. Agent O'Donahue." Trying to be gentlemanly, he took off his hat and awkwardly bowed. "Milady."

But for all his efforts, all he got was an eyeroll. "Don't try to flatter me. You have your partner, after all."

"Well…" O'Donahue coughed and squirmed a little. "Olga has her notions. I, erm, wouldn't say more than that. But no, I don't fancy you and that's not why I want to recruit you, if that makes you feel better."

Oprah laughed dryly. "If you say so. Now, do you plan to continue wasting your time in useless conversation, or are you going to go back to work?"

"You're right, I need to go now. But first," he dug out a coin, "I may as well take your other kiwi off your hands."

* * *

Later that afternoon in the fruit warehouse, little Yucks Shmumber was proudly totaling up the sales. "So how much did we sell on our first day, boss?" she asked, her voice lisping.

"Let's see…" Oprah consulted her list. "Five apples, four mangos, three oranges, both the kiwis, and one bunch of bananas. Also eight cups of juice. Not bad for our first day."

Yucks made a few tallies on her clipboard. "It's fantastic! Daddy will be so proud of us."

"Yes, he will." Then Oprah gasped. "Oh no, how could I forget? What are we going to do when school starts again next month? I can't run the fruit stand during school hours, and Auntie will throw a fit if I don't attend."

"Easy!" Yucks declared. "I'm only four, and I don't hafta go to school yet. I'll watch the stand 'till you get back! There's not much to do in the warehouse, anyway."

Oprah sighed with relief. "What would I do without you, Yucks? Now if only you could help me on my history tests—"

"Hey, do _not_ badmouth history! It's the fruitiest subject, y'know."

"What do you mean?"

"'Cuz it's got _dates!_ "

Oprah had to giggle. "You and your jokes, Yucks. And you're right. I like history, it's just hard to remember what all happened when. And of course I love math. It's grammar and writing classes that are the worst. It's as if the teacher's speaking Ubbi-Dubbi or something."

Yet through all of the agonizing grammar lessons, Oprah knew she liked school overall. The math was fun—and easy, of course—the teacher was nice, and the kids were, well, kids. They were rowdy and mischievous and downright rambunctious much of the time, sure, but that was _normal._ They weren't acting all stuck up or better than adults like those Odd Squad agents always were. Even the nice agents. Even that O'Donahue.

* * *

Back at headquarters, as O'Donahue sat at his desk filing a report and finishing off his kiwi, he mulled over the last part of the conversation at the fruit stand. That Oprah had hit closer to the mark than she realized with her comment about Olga, and not in a good way. But never mind about that. Oprah seemed friendly enough, as long as she was doing business and Odd Squad wasn't mentioned. She'd probably get used to the two agents as regulars if they stopped by often enough. And shy as he was, O'Donahue had meant what he said earlier. He'd find a way to get her recruited, if it took spending all his money on fruit to do it…


	5. The PersuaderDebtor

**A/N Sorry, that was a much longer wait on this chapter than it was supposed to be. Finals and scholarship applications are notoriously good at getting in the way, aren't they? But here it is now, just in time for the holidays. Hope to have more time to write now that I'm on break from school...ish. #homeworkoverbreak**

 **Merry Christmas everyone, and enjoy! :D**

The Persuader/Debtor

Over the next two years, Oprah's fruit stand grew into a successful little business enterprise. Everyone in town came there to get their quality fruit and fruit juice, bypassing even the general store's cheaper prices. Not least of these customers were O'Donahue and, somewhat reluctantly, Olga. The fact was, O'Donahue's gentle and coaxing recruitment efforts weren't lost on his partner. Especially since the potential recruit had gotten older: now ten years old, the girl was a mere two years younger than O'Donahue, and only one year younger than her. She'd even ditched the bonnet and started putting her hair up in intricate braided buns, which clearly impressed him. It didn't take much for Olga to come to the conclusion that there was more going on beneath the surface than just recruitment.

One afternoon in May, just before they stopped by the stand during their patrol of the town, she confronted him about it. "Alright, now tell me the truth. You fancy that girl, don't you?"

O'Donahue skidded to a halt and gawked at her like a deer in the headlights.

"Now don't give me your stupid face! I want an answer. _Do you fancy her?_ "

"Wha—no! Why does everyone keep saying that?"

" _Everyone?_ "

"Well…Oprah, her employee Yucks, and now you. But that's it."

"That's it, eh? Then gee, I don't know, why _does_ everyone keep saying that? Maybe it's because I caught you flirting with that new transfer Olesya a few weeks ago—"

"I wasn't flirting!" O'Donahue protested, the tips of his ears bright red. "I was just welcoming her to our squad!"

"You _asked_ her if she liked it when people brought her _flowers!_ " Olga retorted. "I heard you clear as day!"

O'Donahue coughed nervously, but said nothing more.

Olga tossed her braids and brought out the pouty face. "And to think I believed you when you said I was the only one for you. Ha! You little liar, you…"

"Well, I, uh—" _Calm down, she's just having one of her moments,_ he thought. _It'll blow over soon. Old Missie says it always does. It's all part of being Olga's partner, that's all._

Sure enough, the pouting soon shifted to the over-the-top pleading. "Oh my dear O'Donahue, I shall never know how I could've possibly chased you away. But the others all mean nothing to you, I can see it now. Tell me there's never been anyone else but me. _Tell_ me, dear."

"Well, I, uh—"

"Wonderful! What did I ever do to deserve you? Now come on," she said briskly. "Let's get over to the fruit stand, like you wanted. I'm in the mood for peaches."

Wordlessly, and still quite shell-shocked, O'Donahue followed her. He still had no idea where Olga had gotten the notion he fancied her and only her, but obviously there wasn't any point in telling her otherwise. It hurt, however, that he wasn't even allowed to be friendly with other agents without risking her wrath. But never mind that. After all, she'd been an Odd Squad agent for a full century now, compared to his mere five years. Not to mention she was the daughter of James Hiller and Sarah Phillips, kid heroes in their own right and the first benefactors for Odd Squad in the New World. It was probably normal for privileged, well-connected veteran agents like her to monitor and control their rookie partners like this. Maybe when he was better established, she'd relax her grip a bit. In the meantime, it was nice having such a well-established agent as a partner. No one ever questioned Olga when she told them how to do something or solved a case, and all O'Donahue had to do was back her up. It certainly made his job easy to have a partner who was always right.

Or so he thought.

* * *

A week later, Oprah was convinced she was the craziest person in the world. So were all the Odd Squad agents when they saw her burst through the front door of headquarters and dash straight to the nearest desk. "O'Donahue! I need to talk to you, _now!_ "

He glanced up at her from his work with a confused smile. "Sure, Oprah. What is it?"

Quickly she glanced around. "Olga's not around, is she?"

"Mm, no. Olga left to run an errand of sorts. Now what is it you need?"

Leaning in closer, Oprah muttered, "It's about that odd case from last week. With my stolen fruit." And then the last part, in a whisper: "I know who the thief is."

O'Donahue's eyes widened. "Really? Are you sure? How did you figure it out?"

"I'll tell you on the way to Big Red's homestead. But right now, we need to move before the thief strikes again. Come on!"

With that, Oprah dashed back out the door as quickly as she'd come, beckoning for the agent to follow. Immediately O'Donahue scrambled to his feet and ran after her.

"So what made you figure it out?" O'Donahue asked once he'd caught up to her.

"It was what I've been saying all along," Oprah panted, hitching up her calico skirts and picking up her pace. "The thief likes to divide things in two equal groups and steal exactly half. That's why my odd-numbered groups of fruit were left alone. But the twelve mailboxes—six were stolen, which means six are still left, which means it can be divided again, which means the thief is coming back to steal three more!"

O'Donahue looked amazed. "And you believe we'll catch this thief in the act?"

Oprah squinted at the bend in the road ahead of them. "We're about to find out."

As they rounded the corner and went through the fence, Oprah was relieved to see all six remaining mailboxes still there in the front yard. But her relief was short-lived, replaced by uneasiness: had she done all the calculations right? Would her plan work? Would the thief really come, and was it really who she thought it was? She shook the questions off. No, there was no way she was wrong. The facts lined up. The numbers told the truth. It all made too much sense.

"Good, there's still time," she finally said. "Hurry, we need to tell Big Red. If we're lucky, we may be able to ambush the thief and stop them from getting away."

With a rather bemused O'Donahue close on her heels, Oprah ran up to the front door and knocked. As soon as Big Red answered, the two of them quickly filled him in on the latest discovery. Then Oprah confidently led them all back to a cluster of bushes alongside the fence to crouch down and hide.

For several minutes, Oprah stared unblinkingly at the mailboxes. _This better work,_ she thought nervously. Yet a small part of her relished the excitement of the moment. If this was what Odd Squad agents got to do for a living, it was actually kind of fun.

 _Wait a second_ _…_ _did I just think being an Odd Squad agent was fun?_

* * *

The minutes ticked by. No one showed up, but Oprah didn't seem daunted. Big Red, however, couldn't stop fidgeting, and he had a beaded line of sweat on his forehead. "So we're just gonna let the thief steal three more of my mailboxes?"

"Big Red! Shh!" Oprah hissed, making a hand motion for silence.

 _She seems pretty confident the thief will be here soon,_ O'Donahue thought. _I suppose I trust her, but still…_ "Oprah, are you sure this is gonna work?" he whispered.

"Numbers don't lie," was all he got for an answer.

O'Donahue shrugged and didn't argue. Secretly, he'd felt bad about abandoning the case of the stolen fruit and letting Oprah down just because Olga told him to. So if he did indeed help Oprah catch the thief in the act, it would be the perfect opportunity to redeem himself in her eyes.

 _Catching the thief in the act…Olga has such a knack for it, though. I've seen her do it time and time again. So why didn't she think of this idea sooner? And why didn't Oprah want me to bring her along?_ Something was wrong here. "Can we at least tell Olga?" he asked the fruit vendor.

For a brief moment, Oprah gave him a strange pitying look. Then her face hardened, and she turned back to face the mailboxes. "Sure. She's right there."

O'Donahue blinked. His mouth gaped.

 _That's not possible…_

Odd Squad's most prominent veteran agent. Know-it-all, do-it-all, thief-catcher Olga. Olga, who parted her hair perfectly in half every day when she arrived to work. Olga, who ate exactly half of whatever lunch she brought, insisting she planned to save the rest for dinner. Olga, who got upset when he wouldn't take the other _half_ of her kiwi. Olga, who taunted Oprah for failing the exam and looked down on anyone not involved in Odd Squad. Olga, who never listened to his opinions on a case. Olga, who insulted and tormented him daily for being a dimwit. Olga, who wanted him for herself and therefore kept him away from everyone else. Olga, the epitome of stuck-up, high-and-mighty Odd Squad agents.

Okay, so maybe it _was_ possible. Stranger yet, maybe he _preferred_ to think that way…?

"Let's move!" Oprah said, breaking cover and starting toward the thief. O'Donahue followed her and Big Red, still trying to process it all. But his shock and confusion were quickly turning into almost a pleased sort of apathy. So it was with satisfaction that he shouted with the other two: "STOP RIGHT THERE!"

Olga whirled around and dropped her hatchet. "Aah!" she yelped.

Then her eyes met O'Donahue's, and her whole body went rigid.

"Olga," he managed to say breezily, with a small smile. "Say it ain't so."

That broke the spell, and Olga growled and stamped her foot. "How did _you_ know I'd be here?" she demanded, never taking her eyes off her partner.

Oprah, of course, jumped right in and explained everything. As the evidence came out, Olga's eyes slowly widened into a sort of awed look. But she soon recovered, and replaced it with an air of mockery. "Good job, Oprah," she said in a singsong voice, "but better job, ME!"

What came next happened too fast for anyone to stop it. But the next moment, a lasso was bound and tightened around the trio, and Olga was making her escape. "You'll never catch me!" she taunted, running out into the street.

The three kids struggled to get out of their binding, but it was no use. Even worse for O'Donahue, it was slowly dawning on him that Olga's crime and escape might just spell doom for his Odd Squad career…

* * *

But nobody had thought to factor in six-year-old Yucks Shmumber.

In one swift stroke, it was all over. Yucks was just putting away her juiceboxes when she heard the applause. Looking up, she saw Oprah, Agent O'Donahue, and Big Red clapping and cheering for her, even while stuck in the lasso. Yucks beamed and curtseyed obligingly, but on the inside she was giggling triumphantly.

After all, it's not every day one sees their OTP literally bound together.

* * *

That evening, Oprah found herself standing outside Odd Squad Headquarters with Agent O'Donahue and her dear friend Yucks. All of the stolen items, many from years' worth of robberies, had been returned to their rightful owners, even what was left of the now-spoiled fruit. On request, Oprah had told O'Donahue the full story of how she and Yucks created their own "mathematical figuring-out locale" to solve the case. And now, before the two girls could go back to their fruit stand, he had a few things he needed to say.

"Yucks, that was very brave and clever of you to catch Olga with your new invention," he said, giving her a nod. "Odd Squad thanks you."

"All in a day's work!" she replied, chipper as ever. "And just wait until you see Yucks' Boxes go on the market. It'll take our business to the next level!"

Oprah hid a wince. _If our customers can get past the brand name, that is. I should probably tell her to use her last name instead._

"And Oprah," O'Donahue went on, turning to look her in the eye (albeit with a good deal of effort), "you solved the case. Even though you were fed up with Odd Squad, even though we told you that you and your numbers were wrong, you still took on that responsibility and turned out to be right all along. Not only that, but…" he cleared his throat, "I believe you saved my career."

Oprah cocked her head. She hadn't thought about that. "Really?"

O'Donahue looked away, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "Well, if Olga hadn't been exposed for the thief she is, I could have been accused of being an accomplice. That might have gotten me kicked off the squad. So I, er, appreciate what you did. I owe you one for saving my career."

 _And I thought I was only getting back at Olga,_ Oprah thought incredulously. _Or at least getting my fruit back._ "Um, you're welcome. No trouble, really."

"Which, er, brings me to my second point," O'Donahue said, looking back at her with a grin stretching from ear to ear. "You clearly have all the makings of an extraordinary Odd Squad agent. The way you solved that case—particularly with your, er, math room—was unlike anything I've ever seen before. And you said it yourself before, the exams were too easy for you."

Oprah sighed. "For a shy guy, you never give up, do you?"

"Nope, never," he shrugged, his grin widening even more. "But admit it: not all Odd Squad agents are snooty and privileged as you said they were. And it seemed an awful lot like you were enjoying yourself on this case, even with how dangerous it was."

"It's true," Yucks chimed in. "You were having fun out there."

Oprah was flabbergasted. "Not you too, Yucks!" she protested indignantly. "Why is everyone against me—?" She stopped. "Although…"

 _It_ _had_ _been fun._

 _Odd Squad agents aren't all that bad, after all._

Oprah glanced at the front door to HQ. Somewhere behind it, Agent Olga was facing Old Missie and a dishonorable discharge. _And O'Donahue needs a new partner._

 _Still…am I ready to give up the fruit stand so soon?_

"So what do you say?" O'Donahue prompted. "Will you join?"

At that moment a memory came to mind: Auntie May arguing with Lunette about finding a husband; Molly arguing with Uncle Chester about being in love with another handsome stranger on the street; Oprah escaping to her attic bedroom and plugging her ears.

 _Ugh, would I become like my cousins if I_ _didn't_ _join?_

" _I owe you one…" O'Donahue told me. But how much did he mean what he promised…?_

Suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, the perfect solution came to her.

"My family wants me to join," she finally said. "And now maybe _I_ want to join. But if I'm going to make such a big commitment…I think I may need to do something dramatic first."

And that was how, two days later, Oprah found herself on an Odd Squad-owned ship crossing the Atlantic Ocean.


	6. The Vagabond

**A/N Fun fact, today marks the one year anniversary of the very first Odd Squad fanfic on this site (written by yours truly), "Olive's Last Partner". YAAAAAAYYY! To date, it has had over 6,747 views and 56 reviews, which I believe makes it the most popular OS fanfic ever. #totallynotbragging Thanks for all the support, guys!  
Oh and speaking of reviews, thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story so far, I really appreciate it! Reviews are a great way for me to gauge how well people like this story, and what I should change or mention/write about later. So please leave a review on new chapters when you can, because _your opinion does matter!_**

 **SHOUTOUT TIIIIIIME! So there's this really cool new Odd Squad forum on this site that I highly recommend checking out. You can find it by going up to the top right of your screen where it says "Crossovers" and "Forums", clicking on the forums link, and clicking on the one that says "Odd Squad Needs You!". It's a really great place for roleplaying, where you can audition to "play" different characters by writing scenes from their POV. I got cast as Agent Oscar, and it's a lot of fun! So please go check it out, the forum could use a little love and attention!**

 **Note: If you see a word underlined with hyphens on either side, it's supposed to represent a strikethrough on it.**

 **Okay that's it, now go read! :D**

The Vagabond

Oprah typically prided herself on thinking quickly and making clever snap decisions. But she also knew when to recognize a decision that needed time before it could be made. Time and a whole lot of distraction. And in this case, "a whole lot of distraction" had somehow been translated into "go on a two-month-long trip through Europe, because reasons!" Oprah still wasn't 100% sure how this would help her decide whether to keep the fruit stand or join Odd Squad—after all, traveling abroad kind of defeated the purpose of choosing a career path in her hometown—but a Europe-sized breath of fresh air certainly wasn't a _bad_ idea. Especially since O'Donahue had put all of Odd Squad's available transportation services at her disposal. ("I assure you, she is the most promising recruit we could ever hope for. And we do owe her for exposing Olga. If it takes a Europe trip for her to join, then we need to be the ones funding it!" he had insisted to Old Missie, unbeknownst to Oprah.)

To give Yucks a role in her excursion (and to keep a record of her travels), Oprah decided to write to her friend every week. Yucks has saved all of the letters ever since, and to this day when the two girls get together, they always spend time reading back through them to remember how each girl's lifetime career began. They go something like this…

* * *

 _June 7, 1870_

 _Dear Yucks,_

 _How I wish you were here with me! Europe is so different from anywhere in Canada. There are so many people here! I've been spending my first week in Oslo, the capital of Norway—what would you bet Odd Squad sent me here first because the city's name starts with O? I laughed at first, but it really is a pretty place. I cannot wait to tell you about all the fun things I've seen and done here when I get back! The only problem is not very many Norweajans (is that how you spell it?) speak English, but I think O'Donahue thought of that before I left. Since Odd Squad agents have to know a lot of languages, I can borrow a different agent every day to translate for me. Which is nice, but it's not very helpful when I can't have a translator on my paper route._

 _Oh! I forgot to say this earlier. I miss running the fruit stand back home, so I decided to get another job. The easiest one I could get here was delivering newspapers from Oslo's printing press, but it was still hard to let them hire me—at first they didn't want a little girl who doesn't speak Norweejin, but I got my way, as always. Anyhow, delivering newspapers is fun because they gave me a bicycle—a bicycle! can you believe it?—to ride, and I think I've gotten most of the addresses right without a translator! But…I don't know if it's the right job for me. I don't see myself doing a job like this for the rest of my life. Maybe I'll find a different one in the next country I go to._

 _I think that's enough for now. I shall write you again in a week!_

 _Yours, Oprah_

* * *

 _June 14, 1870_

 _Dear Yucks,_

 _This week I have been in Copenhagen (I_ _know_ _I spelled that right, I looked it up in the encyclopedia!), which is the capital of Denmark. You won't believe this, but the Odd Squad agents hosting my stay here told me I wasn't allowed to get another job! They said a trip to Europe is supposed to be for relaxing, not for working. So I told their Mr. O that it actually_ _is_ _for working, because I'm trying to decide if I want to keep the fruit stand or join Odd Squad. And do you know what he said? He told me, "Aha! Then no competition there!" Hmph, the NERVE of him! O'Donahue always said not every agent is like that, but I'm not so sure. That Mr. O almost makes me not want to join Odd Squad all over again._

 _Anyhow, I am still able to do a lot here. Europeans like using bicycles to travel for some reason, so I've been getting a lot of practice riding it. (I forgot to tell you in my last letter that it took me several LONG hours to learn to ride the thing. I kept losing my balance and falling off!) Copenhagen is right by the ocean, so there is fish everywhere here. The smell is weird, but you get used to it. O'Donahue would like it, if I remember right. And the houses are all painted such pretty colors! Since I can't work, I've been bicycling every day to this place in the middle of the city called Tivoli—I want to tell you all about it, but it would take too long in this letter so I'll have to wait until I get back._

 _Wish you were here to enjoy Tivoli with me! Until next week,_

 _Yours, Oprah_

* * *

 _June 21, 1870_

 _Dear Yucks,_

 _I thought Copenhagen was beautiful, but now I think Prussia is so much prettier, especially in -_ _Munik-_ _Munich where I'm staying! It's very relaxing to ride the train in the evenings and look out at the countryside. There's so much green, and the mountains are gorgeous in the sunset. In the mornings I've been going to all kinds of street markets, when they're not so busy. The bread and sausage is good, and there's LOTS of beer, but no juice. I think my favorite thing to buy is German chocolate. It's simply scrumptious! I promise to send you some in a package before I leave -_ _Munik-_ _Munich._

 _This time, though, I'm spending more of my time with the local Odd Squad. The kids in this one are nicer than the others I've seen so far. Besides solving odd problems, they also do more politics than I realized. One of my translators said there's talk of unifying the German lands into one big country called Germany instead of Prussia, and it could be the most important thing of the century to happen to them. But then he started talking about borders and government and disputes (another word I had to look up in the dictionary) and I got bored. Other than that, I like the Odd Squad here. They're very friendly and they like showing me how to do things, like when their new lab director Odelia showed me how to mix a tonic. But even though they're nice, they still don't want me getting a job. So I went and helped shelved books at a bookstore for free, just to show them. But really, at the end of_ _that_ _dispute, I had an odd feeling it hadn't been worth it to argue. I don't know. Maybe O'Donahue was right. But I won't say anything for sure yet._

 _That's enough for one letter. I shall only add that you must come to -_ _Munik-_ _Munich if you have the chance, Yucks. I am sure the Prussians would love you. They could sure use your juice!_

 _Yours, Oprah_

* * *

 _June 28, 1870_

 _Dear Yucks,_

 _My goodness, has it already been a month since I left? Time does fly! Europe has been simply amazing, and I still have a whole month to go!_

 _After I left Prussia, I told myself I should spend more time enjoying my vacation instead of working or learning about Odd Squad, so that's what I'm doing. This week I decided to go to the Ottoman Empire (which starts with O!). It's so different than the rest of Europe. The buildings are all really old and made of stone, and the people wear funny clothes. They look like the people in the pictures from your_ _1,001 Arabian Nights_ _book. I don't think there's really any genies here._

 _Mostly I stayed in the city of Istanbul. In the rest of Europe they called it Constantinople, which is strange. Can a city have two names? But the people here call it Istanbul, so that's what I call it, too. Anyhow, there's a really big building at the top of a hill in the middle of the city called the Hagia Sophia (yes, I had to ask about the spelling). I visit it almost every day because it's so BEAUTIFUL! The whole place is filled with light and gold and colorful paintings. My translator told me it used to be a church, but it became a -_ _mosk-_ _mosque over four hundred years ago. My translator says it's like a church for Muslim people. I'm not sure what Muslim people are._

 _My other favorite part is the markets. They have even more food here than in Munich! There's kebab, which is pieces of meat cooked on a stick. And there's baklava, which is like a sandwich with flaky bread and nuts and honey inside. But I love the Turkish Delight the most. I don't know how to describe it, only that it's scrumptious and I must send you some to try. I like to eat it with a spicy fruit juice called sherbet. We have to learn how to make it to sell in your juice boxes, Yucks, we just have to. Oh, and I tried coffee for the first time! I don't really care for it, though. Much too bitter. I think I'll stick to juice._

 _Yours, Oprah_

* * *

 _July 15, 1870_

 _Dear Yucks,_

 _I am so very sorry I didn't write to you last week! I had too much fun in Italy and France, and I completely forgot. So here's a longer letter to make up for it._

 _In Italy, I stayed in two cities, Venice and Rome. Did you know Venice has no city streets? All of their streets are canals, which are like rivers made by people. And instead of horses and carriages, you get around by riding in little boats! The people who steer the boats are called gondoliers. I think that's my favorite word now, it's so fun to say! Gondolier gondolier gondolier gondolier gondolier. They wear these black cloaks and white masks, and they're a little scary but they make lots of jokes so I don't mind them. After Venice I went to Rome, and I saw all of the old architecture from the Roman Empire. Some of the buildings are over 2,000 years old! I really liked the Callaseeum because it was so big. Ancient Romans used to watch shows there, but now it doesn't look like it could hold very many people. I also liked the aqueducts, which look like big bridges with lots of arches and used to carry water to the city, but I don't understand how that's possible. Maybe the Romans had Odd Squad's help._

 _The countryside is beautiful, too. Italy is so warm, and the beach is so pleasant this time of year. It has been a long time since I went swimming and played in the sand, but it's hard to do that at Lake Superior when it's always cold. But when I wasn't at the beach, I spent a lot of time visiting the vineyards in Tuscany where they grow grapes. To think that our juice comes from there! The smell was delicious, too—I thought I was in heaven there. I also liked going to the olive groves. Olive is a girl's name, right? I wonder if there are any Odd Squad agents named Olive._

 _In France, I wasn't in the mood for much travel, so I decided to stay in Paris. Finally I didn't need a translator! Thank goodness Auntie is from Quebec and taught me French. I went to many cafes and cathedrals, and it was nice to walk around by myself for once. But most of all I really liked going to the Louvre (finally, a name I know how to spell!). The paintings were all so pretty and relaxing, especially with all the political tension in France. I wouldn't have known about it, except the French Odd Squad (or the Organisation Super Insolite, as they call it) is nervous and keeps talking about a coming war and government collapse. I think they're being a little dramatic, but who knows? One thing is for sure, I was wrong about_ _all_ _politics being boring. Most of it is, but Odd Squad sure knows how to find out about the interesting stuff._

 _Anyhow, I just arrived in Spain last night, and I'm staying in the capital Madrid. I promise I will not forget to write next time!_

 _Yours, Oprah_

 _P.S. There was more political talk in Italy, too. Sometime next year, all of the Italian cities are going to combine into one big country, as Germany is going to do. I wonder what the Italian Odd Squad thought about it all. I'm thinking about Odd Squad a lot more lately. Now I'm beginning to wish I had spent less time on tourism._

* * *

 _July 30, 1870_

 _Dear Yucks,_

 _Thank goodness I got out of France when I did! Four days after I wrote the last letter, France declared war on Prussia, where Germany is. An Odd Squad agent told me that France has now closed its borders, and I might have been stuck there if I hadn't left._

 _Moving on. Spain was actually very boring. Yes, it was beautiful, and yes, I liked going to the Prado, but Spain just looked like a mix of Munich, Rome, and Istanbul, which I've already seen. And the grownups weren't very friendly to children there, not even children connected to Odd Squad. I couldn't do much, which is why I didn't write you again. So I almost decided to spend my last week in England, but one of my translators convinced me to visit Portugal first, if only for a day. And my goodness, what an experience I have had here this week. I know this letter will be quite long when I am finished, because so much has happened during my week in Portugal, but I simply must tell you everything!_

 _It began like this. On my first day in Lisbon, the capital, my two translators (two partners named Osvaldo and Otilia) took me to the see the royal palace. I think one of the servants noticed that the Odd Squad was here, because the next thing we knew, we were suddenly surrounded by servants and escorted to see Queen Maria Pia of Savoy. She is a very beautiful woman, and she was very kind to us. She even let me call her Pia, and told me I didn't have to curtsy, which seems to be a big deal. Anyhow, Pia told the three of us that she needed help with important political business. I was afraid it would be boring grownup stuff, but when she said she needed Odd Squad's help because she didn't trust any adult nobles, I was interested._

 _Here's what Pia told us: she was angry with Prime Minister João Carlos something de Saldanha something something Duke of something or other because he always disagreed with her and the king over political business. "If I were the king, I would have him shot!" she even said, which surprised all three of us. But even though King Luís didn't approve of executing Senhor Saldanha, he gave Pia permission to try a different plan to convince him to cooperate. Her plan was to fake her own death, and say in her will to have an Odd Squad girl crowned as queen in her place. Senhor Saldanha, who for some reason does not like children, would hopefully refuse to work with the new queen, and wish for Pia back instead. At the end, Pia would reveal she's still alive, and make Senhor Saldanha promise to cooperate with her from now on._

 _After she told us her plan, Pia asked us what we thought. Otilia, who is shy and nervous, didn't like it at all. But me and Osvaldo thought it was a fantastic plan—far-fetched, yes, but we thought it was crazy enough to work. When we told her so, Pia smiled and asked ME to be the replacement queen! I didn't think I could because I wasn't really on Odd Squad, but Osvaldo disagreed. He said I was technically an agent-in-training, and doing this would "give me experience." Funny how I wasn't angry with Osvaldo for saying that, like I was with Mr. O._

 _Believe it or not, the plan worked perfectly, and much faster than we thought it would. The next day, Pia pretended to die from poison in her food, the king quickly had her "buried", the will was discovered with my name in it, and that evening I was crowned Queen Oprah I of Portugal. It was actually great fun being queen! Pia's two sons, dom Carlos and dom Afonso, wanted me to play with them, so that's what I did for the next two days. I also showed them how to make juice (which the servants didn't like, because now juice is all the princes want to drink). When the boys were being tutored, I explored the palace and wore fancy clothes and the king even took me horseback riding. And my bedroom had the biggest bed ever and the fluffiest pillows!_

 _But it was my third day that things got interesting. King Luís said on that morning it was time to go visit Senhor Saldanha. So he took me, Otilia, and Osvaldo to see him where parliament was in session. It was funny to see Senhor Saldanha uncomfortable at seeing me, and many times I had to stop myself from laughing at the look on his face. Parliament was arguing over some dispute with country borders in the African colonies—the boring kind of politics that grownups like. After hours and hours of this, I was about to fall asleep when the king told Senhor Saldanha and the rest of parliament to listen to what the queen had to say. So I got out of my chair, stood in front of everyone, and began talking in English. Oh, how you would have laughed, Yucks! I said so many strange things about Africa and borders and tribes and farming and trains from Sodor and "sharing with our hearts" that made no sense at all, and Osvaldo almost broke down laughing as he translated everything I said. Senhor Saldanha grew more and more horrified by the minute, but even funnier, the king pretended to look impressed at everything I was saying!_

 _When I decided to finish, Senhor Saldanha looked as if he were to blow his head clean off, he was so upset. He marched right up to the king and, according to Otilia, said something like, "I will not stand for this outrage and impertinence, Your Excellency! To be told what to do by a child who doesn't know what she is saying!"_

 _And all the king did was raise an eyebrow and said, "Prime Minister, that child is the Queen of Portugal."_

" _I could care less if she were the Empress of China!" Otilia translated. "Even Queen Maria Pia was easier and more reasonable to work with than she is!"_

 _That was my cue. I stepped forward and, in French, said to Senhor Saldanha, "Then you would prefer to have Maria Pia of Savoy as your queen? And you would rather cooperate with her than with me?"_

 _Senhor Saldanha looked shocked. "Why, yes, I would," he replied in French._

 _I smiled sweetly at him and said, "Then my work here is done."_

 _When Pia made her dramatic entrance, I thought Senhor Saldanha would surely faint, he was so pale. But they worked everything out, Pia was made queen again, and Senhor Saldanha promised to cooperate with her from now on. I wasn't the queen anymore, but I was still allowed to stay in the palace as an honored guest for the last few days of my stay, and I even won a service award from the Portuguese Odd Squad!_

 _Fine, my whole adventure with being queen was the best ending to my trip in Europe that I could have ever had. Leading a monarchy was so fun, I may just have to try it again sometime! But for now, I shall be glad to leave tomorrow and return to Toronto. Two months is a long time away. By the time you receive this letter, I hope to be home again telling you about all my other adventures. Until then,_

 _Yours, Agent Oprah_

 _P.S. Phew, the letter is finished. I don't think I shall ever want to write another word for the rest of my life. Maybe I shall just write numbers when I join Odd Squad after I return home._

 _And yes, you may tell O'Donahue that I have finally agreed._


	7. The Pair

**A/N So the rumor that the first episode of Season 2 will be airing on March 7 after the Season 1 finale is, as it turns out, entirely true. I would say I'm excited, but it gives me even less time to finish this fanfic. Oh, well. One more reason to work my butt off as I go back to school in a couple days, lol. Hope you all had a wonderful holiday break :)**

 **Also, in reply to a guest review, the shipping part of the story will officially come into play in the next chapter, but there's a few hints in this one. Enjoy!**

The Pair

"Thank you _ever_ so kindly for coming, Odd Squad! I simply do not know what is the matter with her!"

O'Donahue took off his sunglasses and sized up the girl, who had bright red hair and seemed about his age. She also seemed like the loud and demanding sort, and he fought the urge to freeze up and act shy. "Certainly, miss. Would you, er, show us the odd problem?"

"Yes, right this way." Stepping back, the girl let him and Oprah through the front door and led them through her house to the kitchen. "Your calling must be kept secret, of course. Matthew is out hauling potatoes and Marilla is at her Aid Society meeting in Carmody, and I should not want to trouble them. I've just never seen Diana in such a state before!"

"Well…yes, of course we'll keep it secret," Oprah said slowly, exchanging a skeptical glance with O'Donahue, who shrugged. He knew as well as his partner did that it wasn't always wise to keep an odd problem secret, particularly if they were called all the way to Prince Edward Island to solve it.

The reason for their calling became evident soon enough. In the kitchen, the two Odd Squad agents discovered another girl with jet black hair and a pretty lavender teatime dress staggering about unsteadily and giggling. Every ten seconds or so the girl, Diana, called out either "I'm awful sick, Anne!" or "Anne, I _must_ go home!"

"What was she doing before this happened?" O'Donahue asked the first girl, apparently named Anne.

"Nothing at all! I was telling her a story and she was drinking Marilla's raspberry cordial—"

"Drinking?" Oprah interrupted. "May I see the bottle?"

Anne gave her a puzzled look, but complied. Taking it, Oprah sniffed at the top and made a face. "Just what I suspected. I've seen this once before with my uncle. Anne, I fear you have intoxicated your friend."

"Intoxicated? You mean…" Anne gasped in horror. "I've set her _drunk?!_ But how? I never thought raspberry cordial could set people drunk!"

O'Donahue was confused, too. "She's right. Raspberry cordial has no alcohol in it." He too sniffed the bottle. "Ohh, that's not raspberry cordial, is it?"

Oprah shook her head. "I know my fruit juice. And if that's not three-year-old currant wine, then I'll eat my hat." To her partner she added, "Whether made out of ground beef or not."

" _Currant wine?_ " Anne fell back into a chair and looked as though she were about to cry. "Oh, dear. I must have mixed up the bottles somehow. Whatever shall I do? I can't send Diana home in such a dreadful state!"

"Not to worry, miss," O'Donahue reassured her, feeling a little more confident now that the girl was out of her element. "We have a detoxicator tonic she can drink, and in a few minutes she'll be her normal self." Reaching into his knapsack, he pulled out a miniature flask of blue liquid.

Anne took the bottle gratefully. "Thank you, Odd Squad."

"But," Oprah added, "you have to promise to tell Marilla the truth about what happened. She can help you make sure you don't mix up the bottles again."

"Alright," Anne said with a sigh. "I promise, and I learned my lesson."

* * *

It had been nearly twenty years since Oprah joined the squad, and since then she'd never looked back or regretted it. It didn't take long for her to rise in the ranks and become one of Odd Squad's top agents—fourth after Olesya, Obfusco, and Osage, as it turned out. After returning home from her Europe trip, Oprah had learned from O'Donahue that all her exploits to date had become legendary, from exposing Olga to becoming Queen of Portugal. Many agents had even started using her "mathematical figuring-out locale" to solve cases of their own. So with Yucks's added agreement to take over the fruit stand, it hadn't been much trouble at all for her to bypass the Academy and immediately join the squad as O'Donahue's new partner. This was not to mention the gushing triumphance from the Cassers, but she was more than willing to dismiss and forget about all _that_.

The year was now 1889, December to be precise. Oprah and O'Donahue were on a routine errand to the shed where the math locale was (still there even as Toronto had continued to grow and expand around it) to replace all of the papers that had been scribbled on during the past month, and they were discussing their oddest case to date:

"I can't believe Old Missie wants a change of uniforms," Oprah grumbled, struggling to fill out the measurement card for the new uniform with gloved hands as she walked. "What's wrong with these?"

O'Donahue shrugged. "Maybe a client complained about us looking old-fashioned," he said wryly. "Or maybe it's all part of ringing in the new year. But other than that, Old Missie has never cared too much for modern fashion and it doesn't make sense she suddenly would. Besides, these are already functional enough. Perhaps you know what they look like?"

"That's just it," Oprah said, "they're just as functional as these, and not very fashionable at all. She wants to keep the pants and white shirt, but now wants open suit jackets, side-button shoes, suspenders, _real_ neckties, and red newsboy caps! Which is fine, but…why?"

"I dunno, partner," O'Donahue replied, pushing open the shed door. "We could ask her when we turn in our measurement cards."

"Mm, maybe it's best if we—whoa!" Oprah stopped suddenly in the doorway, nearly causing her partner to crash right into her. "Where did all of the papers go?"

O'Donahue peered over her shoulder. "What do you mean, all of the—whoa!"

The pair slowly stepped into the shed and looked around in puzzlement. Sure enough, all of the origami papers (cheap Odd Squad souvenirs which Yucks had collected from O'Donahue and Olga over the two years spent running the fruit stand) that had been hung on the walls, even the unused ones, were mysteriously absent. The shed now felt cold and foreboding, not at all like the warm and friendly atmosphere it had developed into over the years. Under her coat, Oprah shivered. Before, the math locale had been like a second home to her; she'd thought it was her imagination, but as time went on it seemed more and more like the locale tried to welcome her and O'Donahue, almost as if there was a conscience helping them with their cases. But now…

"Hey, hold on." O'Donahue nodded at something in the center of the floor. "Whoever took the papers, I think they left one in the middle of the floor."

Oprah knelt down and picked it up. "Maybe it's a clue?" Scarcely daring to hope, she carefully undid the colored origami folds until the white side was exposed. "It says, 'Twist your badges a quarter turn to your left, then spin yourselves in a circle counterclockwise.'"

O'Donahue frowned. "How much is a quarter turn? And which way is counterclockwise?"

"Here, let me show you. This," Oprah unclipped her own badge and proceeded to rotate it all the way around, "is one full turn, because it makes an entire circle. This," she rotated it halfway so it was upside-down, "is one half turn, because it only goes halfway around the circle. And this," she set the badge upright again and rotated it partly to the left so it was sideways, "is one quarter turn. It only goes half of halfway around, or one quarter of the way."

Oprah clipped her badge back on. "So if I twist my badge a quarter turn to our left, it would go like this." She did so, and with a loud _click_ , the badge began to glow red.

"Whoa!" O'Donahue started. "Is it supposed to do that?"

"Don't ask me!" Oprah said, just as shocked. "Try yours?"

He did, and the same thing happened. "Now what do we do?" he asked.

In reply, Oprah grabbed the paper and her pencil and quickly sketched a clock below the instructions. "It says to spin in a circle counterclockwise. See, clockwise is the direction the hands move, like this." She drew an arrow in said circular motion.

O'Donahue caught on. "So if we have to spin counterclockwise, that's the other way."

"Exactly!" Putting away the pencil and paper, Oprah pointed to the ground. "Now imagine you're standing on a clock, and spin the opposite direction that the hands move." She took a deep breath. "Ready?"

"Ready."

Both agents began to spin. The red lights grew bigger and brighter. Swirling paper came out of nowhere and surrounded them.

"What's happening?" O'Donahue shouted in a panic.

"I don't know!" Oprah yelled back.

Then there was a sudden blinding flash, and the shed was gone. Disoriented, both agents fell to the floor. All they could see was paper.

"Greetings, agents!"

Oprah blinked and rubbed her eyes.

 _I know that voice…_

"Um…Agent Oprah? Agent O'Donahue? Are you two alright?"

Next to her, she felt her partner dizzily rise to his feet. "Where are we?"

"Why, the Math Room, of course!" the girl's voice replied, echoing all around them. "Didn't you know?"

Oprah looked around, still seeing nothing but paper. Looking down, however, she found herself sitting on a giant red hexagon, scribbled on a huge, thick sheet of paper. Then a familiar hand appeared in front of in her face. Gratefully she accepted it and let O'Donahue pull her to her feet.

"I've heard you before," she said slowly. "In my math locale. I heard you… _speak_ to me."

"Come to think of it…me too," O'Donahue added hesitantly, still looking around.

Oprah snapped her fingers. "Of course! It _is_ you! _You're_ the Math Room!"

"That is correct, Agent Oprah," the voice affirmed. "Visits from all of the Odd Squad agents, but especially from you as my creator, over time gave me a conscience. This morning was the first time I have been able to put this conscience into a physical form."

"Well," O'Donahue said with another frown, "I would hardly call this a physical form."

"Would you prefer I take on a figure for myself?"

Both agents nodded.

"Very well!" The paper walls rustled, and suddenly out burst a life-sized four-colored origami figure. "Is this better?" the voice said, moving the paper folds like a mouth as she spoke.

O'Donahue paled. He started to stumble backwards.

Oprah looked at him in alarm. "Er, Math Room? Could you—?"

Before she even finished her sentence, a sturdy paper railing grew up from the floor, and O'Donahue fell against it. "So sorry," he quickly apologized. "It's just…you're b-big. Gave me a t-turn, that's all."

The figure embodying the Math Room moved back slightly. "Would you prefer I make my figure smaller?"

"No no, it's f-fine. Big is fine. I'll get used to it."

Oprah, meanwhile, had been thinking. "So to get here, we twist our badges and turn counterclockwise. Those were the instructions you left us."

"That is correct."

"And to leave here, we do the same thing, and we'll go back to the place we were before."

"That is also correct."

"So that means…we can come visit you for help on our cases from wherever we are? We don't have to go back to the shed every time?"

"That is the idea, yes."

By this point O'Donahue had somewhat recovered. "I have a question, too," he said, stepping forward to join his partner again. "Before, when we were solving cases, we would unfold one of the papers in the shed to draw diagrams on. If we can't draw the diagrams ourselves now, does that mean you do it for us? Say, for example, could you draw a map of headquarters?"

In reply, Math Room said, "Generating blueprints," and out from the paper walls came two more origami figures. They unfolded themselves and sketches of each of the two floorplans for Odd Squad Headquarters were quickly created.

The two agents stared open-mouthed at the blueprints. "They're perfect!" Oprah exclaimed. "Everything's there, even the slates on our desks!"

"Of course they're perfect," Math Room said as the two figures refolded themselves and joined the first in circling around the platform. "I never make mistakes." It wasn't hard for Oprah to detect a hint of pride in her creation's voice.

"So you can do diagrams of places," she said, getting more and more excited. "What do you know about people? Say, pull up a profile on Old Missie."

A fourth figure emerged from the paper wall and unfolded to reveal a detailed sketch of their boss. "Old Missie, also known as Ms. O, formerly known as Agent Obedience, number 62," Math Room recited. "Joined the newly-organized Toronto Chapter of the Odd Squad in 1793, worked in the Investigation Department for sixty-two years, promoted to head of the Management Department in 1855."

O'Donahue cocked his head. "Her real name is Obedience?"

"Never mind about that," Oprah cut in. "Math Room, this is incredible! You're basically a database connected to everyone and everything around the world, and only Odd Squad has access to it! I never thought anything like this could ever work!" Little did she know that, in one hundred years' time, it would indeed work for ordinary people around the world, in the form of the Internet.

"Neither do you believe Big Red's tube system will ever work, as I recall," Math Room said.

Oprah blushed, recalling her dubious words to the honorary agent from nineteen years ago. "Well, um, could you show us his progress so far?"

"Generating tube map." Three more origami figures emerged and sketched out said diagram. Sure enough, sections of tunnels and tubing could be seen covering all of Canada, and stretching through many places across the world.

"But in all fairness, he found little people from the North to help him," O'Donahue reminded them.

The three figures folded themselves up and joined the rotation with the other four. "Fair enough. You didn't know," Math Room agreed. "Now, may I make a suggestion?" When the two agents nodded, she continued. "You may want to go back to your headquarters now and tell Old Missie and the other agents about me, to give them some warning."

"Absolutely, we have to!" Oprah said with a giggle. "Won't they all be surprised?"

"I can't wait to see the look on Olesya's face," O'Donahue added. "Poor Ogden, she'll probably drag him here at least once every hour!"

Still chattering and joking, the partners twisted their badges and spun out of sight. Oprah was happy. Her second home felt homier than ever. Even better, she had a new best friend.

Not that O'Donahue and Yucks didn't count, of course.

* * *

1915 was a big year for Odd Squad.

For one, it was the year Old Missie finally agreed that their current headquarters building was too small and horribly out-of-date, after a lab accident nearly destroyed the entire main floor—and nearly cost the lab director Dr. Ozzington his job. Fortunately for the scientist, he was a part-time architect, and redeemed himself by drawing up the blueprints for the new building himself. The plans even allowed for a lobby centered around the underground entrance of the still-under-construction tube system, which made Big Red happy and decided the issue.

For another, it was the year Carlos was discovered. With the Great War going on and no way to translate a coded message from the German Odd Squad, Old Missie sent Oprah and O'Donahue to the Math Room to crack it. Math Room redirected them, and the rest was history. While Oprah didn't particularly care too much for the Word Room, she was impressed not only by the fact that her creation could duplicate herself, but that she had given herself a name. Not that Oprah was going to start using the name Carol—Math Room got a little touchy and said only her brother could call her that, and Oprah didn't argue.

There were numerous other important happenings in 1915, naturally. The Great Chicken Wars broke out and Agent Obfusco was dispatched to the front lines; the dreaded Hydraclops rose out of Lake Ontario and demolished parts of downtown Toronto, disappearing without a trace but for a photograph taken by Agent Orscheln; Uncle Chester and Auntie May Casser both passed away and Oprah had to leave for a month to visit the cousins she hadn't seen in years; the Department of Science began the official transfer from using tonics to the more modern gadgetry; a new Dr. O was hired, relieving Ozzington from a third job; the two villains Fannee Doolee and the Patternista both made their criminal debuts; and for the first time in years, their squad got nominated for a Jackie Award, albeit still losing to Mr. O's squad in Montréal.

But for O'Donahue, it was the year he made a complete fool out of himself.

"Almost done…got it!" Securing the last button on his shoe, he stood up and grinned. "What's my time?"

Oprah, who had been watching the pendulum on the Odd Squad grandfather clock, turned to him with eyebrow raised. "Eighty-three seconds. Easy-peasy."

O'Donahue handed her the button hook and scoffed. "What do you mean, easy-peasy? I'd like to see you try and get a better time than me!"

Fifty-eight seconds later: "Done!"

O'Donahue gaped. "That's not possible!"

In reply, Oprah showed him her completely buttoned shoes. "I told you, girls do it faster," she crowed. "Which means _I_ win the wager, which means _you_ have to take me to a Mary Pickford picture tonight."

"Fine," O'Donahue sighed. "But there's a new Charlie Chaplin—"

And that's when the bells went off.

Amidst shouts of excitement, every agent jumped up from their desk and began heading towards the stairs down to the Common Room in the basement. O'Donahue looked stricken. "Oh no, the square dance! I forgot it was tonight! Oprah, I haven't practiced!"

Oprah stared at him. "What do you mean, you haven't practiced? Old Missie scheduled Square Dance Night months ago!"

"I know, and I forgot all about it!" Groaning, O'Donahue resigned himself to following the crowd downstairs. "This is going to be a disaster. You know how bad I am at ballroom dancing!"

"O'Donahue, it's okay!" his partner tried to reassure him. "I'm sure there's plenty of other agents who are worse dancers than you are. You'll be fine."

But "fine" turned out to be far from the truth. For the sake of O'Donahue's pride, I'll refrain from recounting the specifics. Suffice it to say he repeatedly went the wrong direction, got the calls mixed up and did all the wrong ones, and basically kept running into everyone else. Halfway through the night, however, the caller Obfusco contracted a rather odd case of the Skips with a sore throat as a side effect, and had to stop. When no one immediately took his place, Oprah tried to be nice and volunteered O'Donahue so he might get out of dancing. But as one might expect, he froze up on the caller stand, stumbled over words, forgot all the commands, and, amidst shouts of dismay at his mistakes, immediately bolted when Old Missie gave him permission to step down. After the newest agent Oxley also tried and failed to be the caller, Old Missie decided to switch from square dancing to a good old classic waltz—effectively throwing poor O'Donahue out of the frying pan and into the fire. For Oprah's sake he tried to dance with her, but things like this kept happening:

"O'Donahue, you're supposed to lead, remember?" Oprah hissed.

"Sorry!" Holding his partner's hand in a death grip, he gulped and tried to moved forward.

"Ow, my foot! Watch it, dingbat!"

"Sorry, Agent Olmstead!"

And so on. Needless to say, after constantly forgetting to lead and stepping on one too many toes, he eventually ran off and hid red-faced in a corner for the rest of the evening.

Later, while walking to the picture theater, Oprah tried to console him. "It's alright, the whole thing is over and done now. Trust me, things could have been much worse."

"No, they couldn't!" O'Donahue moaned, face buried in his hands. "I made myself look like an utter basket case down there! I can't go back to work and face them all again!"

"Really, now? I hadn't the faintest idea you wanted to quit your job and abandon your own partner. Sounds like a fine plan to me."

O'Donahue made an exasperated noise. "That's not what I meant."

Oprah squeezed his arm. "Hey. Being a terrible dancer has nothing to do with you being an excellent agent. By tomorrow morning, everyone will have already forgotten about the dance. You'll see." When that didn't cheer him up, Oprah tried another tactic. "Tell you what. Why don't we go see a Charlie Chaplin picture instead? Will that make you feel better?"

Finally putting his hands down, O'Donahue rewarded her efforts with a small smile. "No, that's okay. You won the bet fair and square. We'll go see Mary Pickford like you wanted, and Charlie Chaplin can wait for another time."

"That's my partner," Oprah teased. Grabbing his hand, the pair ran the last couple blocks to the theater, laughing all the way.

* * *

Ten years later, Old Missie was reviewing her paperwork for the umpteenth time. On it, she would officially retire at the end of the day and formally transfer the title of Ms. O to Agent Olesya. After all, the latter's leadership and heroics in defeating the Patternista last month more than earned her the promotion. Old Missie only had one qualm: was Olesya _really_ the only agent qualified for the position?

There _were_ a few other agents who could do it. But with exception to Olesya, each had a reason not to. Obfusco was certainly smart and savvy enough, but too confusing for everyone to understand. Plus, he'd told her he'd rather stay in the Events  & Support Department. Osage was a level-headed leader, but like Old Missie herself, she'd been on the squad for more than a century and was looking at retirement in the next few years or so. That only left one other. This agent hadn't been on the squad for a terribly long time, but her initiative, drive, and spunk were unequaled. Put those qualities into leadership, and she'd make a worthy Ms. O.

 _Still…_

Old Missie tucked a stray ringlet of copper brown hair behind her ear and smiled. Of course she had made the right choice. Maybe later on down the road, Olesya could be the one to decide whether to promote Oprah as the next Ms. O. But for now, she and O'Donahue were just too good of a team to split up.

Satisfied, Old Missie signed the paperwork and gathered it all up into one file. _Thank goodness that's finally done,_ she thought. _Now, about that bob haircut I still need to get…_


	8. The Misfit

The Misfit

"O'Donahue, we need to have a talk."

O'Donahue closed his eyes. Those words. He had dreaded hearing those words for a long time, knowing it was only a matter of time before they came. "What do you want, Oprah?"

"Now don't give me that!" she said, pulling her chair over to sit beside him at his desk. "I'm not mad. I'm—I'm worried about you."

He opened his eyes. "Worried about what? There's nothing wrong with me."

"You know very well that's not true!" she countered angrily. "What's today's date?"

"August 4, 1946."

"How long have we been partners?"

"Seventy-six years today."

"And how long has it been since you had Olga as a partner?"

He winced. Yep, this was it. "Seventy-six years, two months, one week, and four days. And yes, we were only partners for about five years."

"That was my next question. See, you know exactly what I'm getting at here!" Oprah sighed, took both of his hands in hers, and looked him straight in the eye. "What did she do to you, O'Donahue? What could she do in five years that you can't recover from in seventy-six?"

For several long minutes, O'Donahue didn't utter a word. Finally he looked away. "First tell me what you know," was all he could bring himself to say.

Oprah reached up and turned his chin so he was looking at her again. "You shouldn't be an insecure person. You never have been around me or Yucks, not since we met you in '68. Yet for seventy-six years, all I've seen is you acting timid around everyone else. Speaking of Yucks, did you know she's a very perceptive person?"

"Hm? No, I don't think so."

"Well, she is, and she's hardly ever wrong. It's no wonder she's a business tycoon now, Mr. Carnegie would have been proud of her. But she's very good at reading people, and even she says you shouldn't be so insecure. I told her about the night at the square dance, and she told me what you _would've_ done if you didn't insist on being so shy. You'd have smoothly ignored all your dance mistakes like they were nothing, made a game of calling the wrong commands, and smirked at anyone who yelled at you for stepping on their toes."

O'Donahue stared at her. _How would Yucks know that's exactly what I wanted to do?_ he wondered. "Yeah. She's right, I wish I could've. But that's not who I—"

"But it is!" Oprah insisted. "Deep down, that's who you are! You have attitude, you make sarcastic jokes, you like being modern…so why aren't you that way all the time? Why do I only see bits of you here and there?"

"Oprah. It's 1946. The whole world's been through over fifteen years of Hades and it still isn't fixed yet. You think I shouldn't be bothered even a tiny bit by depression and war?"

"Not—" she stopped. Her eyes misted over and got this faraway look to them. O'Donahue suddenly regretted opening his mouth. Too late he remembered Lunette and Molly. Lunette's entire family lost their jobs after the stock market crash, and already frail from her age, Lunette died of hunger and grief within the year. Her family took to the streets and were never heard from again. Molly, who had moved to London with her new husband in the 1880s, had already lost her sons and grandsons to the bullets of World War I, and she went on to lose her great-grandsons to the bullets of World War II. The rest of Molly's family, along with herself, later died in a _Blitzkrieg_ bombing raid. As the last surviving relative of both cousins, Oprah received all of the news and obligingly paid for whatever funerals could be held. O'Donahue knew she had never been particularly close to her cousins, or her aunt or uncle, but unlike him she had actually had a family. And though Oprah always insisted the deaths didn't bother her that much, O'Donahue wasn't fooled for a minute. She was tough, and she hid her grief well, but it was definitely there.

 _Wait a second…_

And that's when he realized: _I'm the same way as she is. I've hidden it, but it's still definitely there._

"It's…it's not an excuse for everything else," Oprah finally said, her eyes clear and focused again. "You were still this way before 1939 and 1929 and 1914 happened. Now _what did Olga do?_ "

Again, O'Donahue couldn't answer right away. While searching for the right words, he found himself idly gazing at his partner. Oprah was worlds different from Olga. Her dark brown eyes had a sharpness and clarity to them, hinting at her intelligence, but also a softness that Olga's steely eyes never had. Her round face reminded him of warm coffee, and recently she'd started wearing her hair long and loose and wavy again. He liked the way it sometimes fell in her face in thin, frizzy tresses—it gave her a natural look, not like the stiff harshness of Olga's pale face or the severity of her tightly-braided hair. And until a few years ago, he'd forgotten how cute she looked wearing a skirt. As part of the war effort, Odd Squad kept the outdated sailor suits for their uniforms and conserved even more fabric by substituting in skirts for the girls to wear instead of pants. Oprah clearly liked the change, and he'd often caught her twirling in her skirt when she thought no one was looking. Now that the war was over, Olesya—Ms. O—had their uniforms changed to navy sweater vests with red neckties and Converse shoes, but for once kept the idea of skirts for the girls. Something about the shoes with the navy-red plaid skirt looked good on Oprah, made her look eight years old again. Now, though, the concern in her face and the intentness in her posture almost made her look her real age. She seemed world-weary and frustrated, yet brimming with compassion. Compassion for him. It upset and saddened him to see her like this. If only he could hold her in his embrace and make it all go away—

 _Where did THAT thought come from?_

Suddenly and inexplicably embarrassed, O'Donahue tried to focus on Oprah's question.

"Olga…had to be in control," he said slowly. "If she wasn't in control, she wasn't stable. I don't know why. But if she wasn't stable, she was _vicious_. It was scary to see her like that. So I…well, I guess I tried to keep her happy. Keep her feeling like she was in control, you know? She distanced me from most of the other agents, didn't want me talking to them, watching them, nothing. And she demanded constant praise from me, or she'd get upset and say I didn't know anything. Back then I thought it was all part of being a rookie agent. If I paid attention only to my partner and did whatever she said, I'd gain her trust and she'd relax her grip."

"But that's not true!" Oprah burst out angrily. "Olga was just being a bully!"

"I know that _now_. But I was too naive back then. It even took me years after she was fired before I figured out she lied about joining in 1770, because she wasn't born until 1783." O'Donahue bit his lip. Now _he_ was starting to feel kind of angry. But he had to keep talking now. "The other thing about Olga is that she—er, she fancied me. A lot. As in, I felt like I was less her partner and more her possession. Again, I naively passed it off as normal, until 1870 happened. A few months before you joined, Olesya transferred to our squad, so I felt a sense of duty to welcome her. While Olga had the day off, I took the chance to talk to Olesya and find out who she was and what she liked and such. I didn't know where to find jelly beans, but I offered to bring her flowers if she wanted. Somehow, Olga found out. The next day she chewed me out so much, I thought I was a goner. Then she switched to gushing fake girlfriend like that—" he snapped his fingers "—and dragged me to your fruit stand, and you know the rest. But seriously, you don't understand. I could avoid her all day and she'd still find me and attack me for being the worst agent in the world, then turn around and go on and on about how I'd "promised myself" to her. And I couldn't talk to _anyone!_ Olga could get mad and go crazy, Old Missie wouldn't hear any complaints about her top agent, you weren't on the squad and didn't want to understand, and thanks to Olga's controlling, I didn't know any other agents well enough. Even today I still don't. For all I know everyone still thinks I'm nothing but a stupid pale fream!"

"Of course they don't!" Oprah said, squeezing his hands. "Shy, yes, but they know you're a really good agent. Things like the Square Dance Night happen to everyone, trust me."

"I know." O'Donahue huffed and laid his head on its side on his desk. He felt drained. "Well…that's it, I guess. Olga lied to me about so much. It's just been hard to let go of it all."

Oprah said nothing. Her beautiful eyes had hardened, and her warm hands were clenched into fists. "It's not right," she murmured, shaking her head. "It's not right at all. You can't be mean without a good reason or apologizing later, you just can't!" Finally she sighed, slumping a little. "Sorry. I just hate bullies. Especially ones that hurt people for seventy-six years after they've stopped."

"No. It's alright," O'Donahue said. "It's strange. After all that, I feel—fine. Like that was a weight off my chest. A little lighter, maybe younger, maybe…braver. I don't know, but—thanks for being a good listener, Oprah."

Smiling, she reached over and brushed a stray lock of dark hair out of his eyes. "I'm your partner, silly. That's what I'm here for."

With that, Oprah grabbed a juice box, got up and left him to deliver a file. O'Donahue watched her go. Deep inside his conscience, the memory of Olga and her iron grip began to fade away.

 _Starting today,_ he resolved, _it's no more Mr. Shy Guy._


	9. The Playboy

**A/N Fun fact, last night I went back and looked through my first fanfics from 3 years ago just for fun.**

 **...Never again... [gulp!] #wasireallythatterrible**

 **In other news, I am literally panicking about getting this story done before the finale and S2 premiere on March 7, and I am so much in a frenzy that I even made myself a writing schedule. What does this mean for you readers? Hopefully more frequent updates! Thanks again for all the lovely reviews and support, and enjoy the chapter! :D**

The Playboy

"Hey there, Oprah!" said a breezy voice from behind. "Check out these new digs?"

Oprah groaned.

"C'mon, partner, whaddya think?"

 _Not again._ "Do I have to?" she whined.

"I need to know if I got the 'cool cat' look nailed or not, so yeah!"

Rolling her eyes, Oprah swiveled her desk chair around and sized her partner up. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. When I said you needed to stop being a shy person…that's not exactly what I had in mind."

Over the past thirteen years, O'Donahue's insecurity had all but dissipated, and his confidence and self-esteem had flown through the roof. Though still a little quiet, he'd turned himself into anything as "far-out, subterranean and chrome-plated" as he could be, as he liked to tell her. Today, that apparently meant a black leather jacket, sunshades, a slicked-back pompadour, and the Elvis-is-in-the-house pose.

"Don't let Ole—Ms. O see you out of uniform," was all the more Oprah would say before turning back to her typewriter and her juice box.

O'Donahue yanked her chair back around and whipped off his shades. "Aw, come on, Oprah, lighten up! Don't be such a drag!"

"I'm not being a drag, I'm being a productive agent," Oprah retorted. "It's taken us over forty years—and far too many trips to the Word Room for _my_ taste—to nab Fannee Doolee and stop her from stealing everything with double letters. If Ms. O wants our report on solving the case, then she's gonna get it. Either get with it and help me write it, or tune out and let me work."

"Alright, alright!" Hands up in surrender, he backed away and turned to go. "Later, gator. See you in ten."

Oprah rolled her eyes again and went back to her typing.

True to his word, O'Donahue was back ten minutes later, just as Oprah was sliding her finished report into the Ditto machine. "What is it now?" she said.

"Hey, there. No attitude, _s'il vous plaît._ "

"Don't bother with that, you hubcap. Your French has always been terrible and we both know it." Nevertheless, she turned to face him with a teasing smile. "Now what is it you need?"

"Didn't you know? It's Friday. There's a public dance tonight at that new joint downtown."

"You mean the Club 24? Isn't that one American group performing there this weekend?"

O'Donahue grinned. "Dion and the Belmonts, so you _did_ know! Now, that wouldn't happen to mean you were wanting to make the scene tonight?"

Oprah felt her cheeks grow warm. Why did that make her feel so self-conscious? "Well, how could I want to?" she managed to reply. "There's a very good reason you never see very many Odd Squad agents at Friday night dances, you know. I'm a kid, and I have neither dress nor beau for dancing. Besides, I—"

"Don't you?" O'Donahue countered, raising an eyebrow. "You wound me, baby doll."

"For heaven's sake, what are you getting at?"

"Well…" Leaning against the filing cabinet, he casually propped an arm on her shoulder, which she promptly removed. "That ain't no sweat. Dresses aren't hard to find, and you already got yourself a hip partner."

Oprah gave him a sidelong look. With some effort she hid a grin, but her cheeks were warm again. "I was going to say, I also just started karate classes on Friday nights. I've told you that before, surely you remember."

"Just this once? Take a break from work and mush?"

"I told you, I can't."

"I'll get you a red dress with white polka dots and a scarf to match."

 _How did he know?_ "Fine, you got yourself a deal."

"Right-o!" Straightening up off the filing cabinet, O'Donahue put his shades back on and started off, but not before sending a wink her way. "Catch you after work tonight, baby doll!" he said, and was gone the next moment.

Oprah shook her head and chuckled softly. "The nerve of him," she murmured. Still, she had gotten used to this new and improved O'Donahue. _Better that he be sassy than insecure, if it means Olga's grip on him is gone for good,_ she reasoned to herself. Once again focusing her efforts on the Ditto machine, Oprah then noticed an odd fluttering in her stomach and tried to calm it down with another juice box. Even odder, it took the better part of an hour before the fluttering went away completely.

But oddest of all was this thought: _Did he mean it when he called me baby doll?_

* * *

" _…I said a tag-tag, tag along with me / Rock now, tag-tag, taggin' along / Rock, tag-tag, taggin' along / Yeah, tag-tag, taggin' along / Uh-huh, tag-tag, tag along / Ta-a-a-a-a-g along…"_

Oprah, to say the least, was impressed. "Since when did you learn all those moves?" she shouted over the music to her partner, swishing her new red skirts.

"I dunno!" he shouted back, spinning her around. "It just sort of happened! Unreal, right?"

Whatever it was, O'Donahue clearly had a special knack for rock 'n roll dancing. Had she not been his partner, Oprah might never have guessed he was the same one who utterly failed at square dance four decades ago. But now he was, as Obfusco liked to say, "smooth as ketchup on a sweater made of sand," whatever that meant. Especially when, after doing the jitterbug, he surprised her by flawlessly taking her into a lift and a dip. Try as she might, Oprah couldn't hold back a giggle.

All too soon the song ended, and Oprah and O'Donahue clapped and cheered along with all of the other couples there. The lead singer Dion then launched into the "thank-you-very-much-my-what-a-lovely-crowd-this-evening-I'll-introduce-the-rest-of-the-band" spiel, giving the pair time to relax and chat. "So how'd you like the dress?" O'Donahue asked.

"Oh, it's _very_ radioactive," she beamed, giving it another twirl. "Thank you, O'Donahue. This was definitely worth missing classes for."

Oprah couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw a slight flush in her partner's cheeks. "Aw, it was nothing. Whatever it took to get you out for some kicks for once." He glanced back at the bar counter. "Say, I think they're serving milkshakes over there. Wanna stop and refuel?"

"You bet!" she agreed. As the two of them began to move off the dance floor, Oprah wondered if how she and O'Donahue were acting was what grownups called "flirting". _If that's what it is,_ she thought, _it's actually kind of fun. I could get used to this._

"Ooh, look girls! It's Agent O'Donahue from the Odd Squad!"

Oprah froze.

Standing directly in front of them and blocking their path were three girls—one blonde, one dark-haired and dark-skinned, and one brunette with cateye glasses. They looked about 13 or 14, with identical hairstyles, identical mint-green dresses, identical makeup, and identical manicures. And they were all looking at O'Donahue with expressions that made Oprah tense up.

But O'Donahue merely grinned and tipped his chin at them. "Hello, ladies. Pleasure to see you again."

Oprah looked at him sharply. " _Again?_ "

"Partner, meet Madi, Nina, and Bridget," O'Donahue said as he pointed to each girl in order, who curtseyed at the mention of their names. "I solved a case for them once when you had the day off last month."

"And wasn't he killer," Madi said, twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger.

"Oh, definitely," Bridget agreed, tipping her glasses. "He saved my cat Pilchard, and Madi's dog Hunley."

"And my dog Charkey," chimed in Nina. "They all went and turned themselves into gelatin, you know, and Agent O'Donahue was nice enough to turn them back to normal with his little, er, dinglehopper gadget."

"So nice, he was," Madi giggled. "Quite the flutter bum, too,"

"Nonsense." O'Donahue waved all their compliments away, yet it was clear when he straightened his jacket and whipped out the tiny comb that he enjoyed them. "No need for all the apple butter, ladies."

"Yes, there's no need at all," Oprah said hurriedly, with a funny feeling in her gut. "Now if you'll excuse us—"

"Oh, but we've just been introduced!" Bridget interrupted, sidestepping to keep Oprah from leaving. "You know, it's funny, I don't recall O'Donahue mentioning you when he saved our pets last month."

Oprah shot her partner a look. _What is that supposed to mean?_ she wanted to ask him, but settled for an angry glare.

O'Donahue coughed slightly.

"Hmm, I believe you're right, Bridget," Nina said. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," Oprah practically snapped. "But I'm known as Agent—"

The sudden startup of the music cut her off. To the three girls' delight and Oprah's dismay it was the band's new hit single, "Teenager in Love".

Madi squealed. "Ooh, I _love_ this song! So slow and romantic! Agent O'Donahue, you simply _must_ dance with us!"

"Oh yes, please!" said Nina, nodding her head eagerly. "Our dance partners left early, you see, and we couldn't just sit this one out!"

Bridget entwined her arm in his and steered him around toward the dance floor. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked Oprah.

Oprah forced a smile. "No, not at all," she said sweetly.

"Thanks, partner! I'll get you that milkshake when I'm done!" O'Donahue called back over his shoulder, already leading the three girls into the dance. The last thing Oprah heard him say before the crowd swallowed them up was, "Come on snakes, now let's rattle!"

Suddenly angry, Oprah stormed off until she came to the bar counter, and delivered a mighty kick to the first bar stool she saw. One of the soda jerks saw her and curiously came over. "Can I get you something, miss?"

Oprah scowled at him. "One Juice Cow, please and thank you."

He furrowed his brow. "A Juice Cow, miss?"

"You make Brown Cows and Black Cows, don't you? Well, I want a Juice Cow!"

"Right away, miss!" the jerk said quickly, scuttling off. Oprah hopped up in the bar stool and swiveled around to watch the dance. She spotted O'Donahue immediately, dancing with a dreamy-eyed Nina. The song ended and went right into "No One Knows", and Madi immediately took Nina's place. Oprah gripped her polka-dotted skirts and glowered at them, knowing O'Donahue wouldn't be back for a long time. The feeling in her gut was growing bigger and stronger, but she couldn't put a finger on what it was.

"Here's your Juice Cow, miss!"

Oprah turned around long enough to fish out some cash and slam it on the counter in front of the soda jerk, then grabbed her drink and went back to glowering at her partner and the trio of girls. _Why am I even so mad about it?_ Oprah wondered, subconsciously taking a sip. _Olga kept him away from other kids for so long, why should I start doing the same? Besides, I've known him for decades. It's not like I fancy him or anything._

 _Do I?_

The Belmonts had moved on to a new song. " _I wonder why-y-y I love you like I do / Is it beca-a-ause I think you love me too…"_

"Oh, cut the gas," Oprah muttered, suddenly realizing what the feeling in her gut was.

Jealousy.


	10. The Boss

**A/N If there's one thing that's annoying about writing this fanfic, it's the fear that unreleased episodes will screw up my carefully-crafted timeline. Which, based on what I've seen on the Odd Squad Wiki, is exactly what "Oscar of All Trades" is going to do. Oh well, I'll figure something out. More A/N at the bottom.**

 **WARNING: Some _minor_ T-rated content in this chapter, for implied horror themes and drug use. NOT for shipping reasons...**

The Boss

It was the spring of 1971 when Oprah and O'Donahue got their first and only American case in Ironton, Ohio. It was also the first and only case that was way out of their league—in more ways than one.

"So is the problem with your TV or your son?" Oprah asked the woman, looking back and forth between her and the device in question.

"I honestly couldn't say!" the woman said in bewilderment. "Maybe both. I just hope little Robbie isn't wrong in the head!"

O'Donahue patted the woman on her arm. "Not to worry, ma'am. I'm sure he's fine. Now start from the beginning and tell us what's odd."

The woman took a deep breath. "Every weekday afternoon at four o'clock, my son asks me to turn on the TV and go to Channel 58. Now that channel has always been nothing but static, but my son will watch it for half an hour. And then he goes on and on about this program with some girl named Janice and her friends Pirate Percy and the Laughingstock. I don't know if there's something wrong with the TV, or if he needs his head fixed!"

"Hmm." Oprah glanced at her watch. "Well, it's almost four now. Why don't my partner and I stay and watch what happens, and we'll decide what to do after that."

The woman wrung her hands and nodded. "Okay."

At that moment, a little boy of about six clambered down the stairs and into the living room. "Mommy, mommy, turn on _Candle Cove_!" he said.

With a sigh, the woman switched on the TV and turned the dial until the display read 58, while her son plopped down on the floor in front of the TV. Sure enough, there was nothing but static. But then the white noise faded out and was replaced by calliope music. To the agents' astonishment, the words CANDLE COVE appeared on the screen, set to a background with a beach and a pirate ship off in the distance.

"Are you seeing this, ma'am?" O'Donahue managed, jaw dropped nearly to the floor.

"Seeing what?" the woman cried out. "There's nothing but static! Even my husband and sister agree with me!"

"Weird," Oprah murmured. "It's like only kids can see it. But it's definitely there, I'm watching it clear as day."

Then the first scream sounded.

All three kids watched in horror as the camera rapidly cut to all sorts of marionettes screaming, screaming and writhing in unbearable pain. One was a pirate with a contorted face, one had a mustache and huge teeth, and one was nothing but a skeleton with a patchwork top hat and cape that looked to be made of human skin. And all were screaming and gnashing their teeth. The calliope music that had sounded so friendly at the beginning played on with a now frightening intensity. Then a new sound was added to the cacophony—sobbing. A five-year-old girl appeared, wailing uncontrollably as if she'd been sitting through hours of this.

"Oh my God…" Oprah whispered, eyes glued to the screen and unable to tear them away. "This is…this is…"

"What?" the woman shouted. "What is it, _what is it?!_ "

"Satanic," O'Donahue gulped. "That's what it is, it's satanic!"

That single word galvanized Oprah into action. In one swift moment she lunged forward and switched the TV off. Instantly the screaming stopped, and there was merciful silence.

Robbie began to cry.

Oprah was shaking and breathing heavily. "Ma'am…I don't know what that was, but I do know this: Odd Squad is not qualified to help you."

The woman stared at them. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"It means we agents aren't trained to solve a case like this," O'Donahue explained. "We look for oddness, and what we just saw was, um, worse than odd."

"But we do know who _is_ qualified for this sort of thing." Oprah reached behind her back and pulled out two business cards. "This is the contact information for the Witches Council and the Winchester Hunters. One of these organizations may be able to help you. But in the meantime, don't _ever_ let your son watch that show again."

The woman, hugging her crying son, took the card gratefully. "Thank you, Odd Squad. And don't worry, I won't!"

O'Donahue knelt down so he was face-to-face with Robbie. "There now, we turned it off. You don't have to see that show ever again, okay? Can you be a brave boy for your mommy?"

Robbie nodded through his tears. "Yes."

"Good job." He stood up. "Have a good day ma'am." And with that, both agents ducked into the tube entrance, inconveniently placed behind the television set. It would be nearly a year before either one of them watched anything on TV again without getting spooked.

* * *

Oprah didn't like the long hair.

She kept dropping hints that he should cut it. "It looks so fruit with our new suit-and-tie uniforms!" "Get real, what boy would wear long hair with a suit?" "We're government agents, not countercultural hippies!" Or her favorite, giving him a pair of scissors for his birthday. "Guess what they're for?" she asked in a singsong voice.

But every time, O'Donahue would roll his eyes and whip out his new favorite pair of red-framed sunglasses—and that new catchphrase he knew she hated:

"Like, get with the Times, New Roman." And he'd put on his sunglasses and saunter off, leaving behind a snarling partner.

Once, O'Donahue somewhat jokingly accused her of turning into Olga. Though meant innocently, the remark hit home, and Oprah kept her mouth shut after that. And over the next couple years, she grudgingly grew to like it. There was one time she caught herself imagining what it would be like to twirl her fingers in that long, dark hair, slowly and tenderly. Disturbed, she quickly ran to the break room for a juice box and soon forgot her daydream.

O'Donahue went out quite often, of course. In their downtime at work, he'd tell her all about the places he'd been, the "groovy shag wags" he'd ridden in, and all the cool people he'd met. Especially the girls. Oprah bristled whenever he mentioned some new Sheila, though she didn't really know why.

Or, more accurately, wouldn't admit to herself why.

She tried to pass it off as an age thing. "O'Donahue, those girls are older than you now. Don't you see? We've been on the gig long enough that we're getting younger. I've gone from ten to almost seven, and you've gone from eleven to nine."

O'Donahue raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't matter. _They're_ not over a century old. They're still stuck in the crib with their parents."

Oprah sighed. It was all bravado, the way he was talking, and they both knew it. Still, her partner's nightlife made her nervous on more than one occasion.

And not just her. One afternoon in '76, Ms. O called them up to her office, and it wasn't for oddness. Oprah knew things were serious right from the start when their boss didn't tell him to tuck in his shirt like she always did. "Agent O'Donahue," she began, reaching for a jellybean, "I understand you've been hanging out with an, er, interesting crowd lately."

Oprah shot her partner a look that said, _I told you so._

"But before I go on, there's a bit of protocol I need to take care of first." Ms. O turned to Oprah. "What is the official Odd Squad motto?"

" _E weirdibus bizarreum, strangeus non normalur_ ," Oprah recited.

Ms. O turned to O'Donahue. "And what is the official Odd Squad promise?"

"All kids are equal, and all kids belong," he recited.

"Which is why I don't want to discuss this, but I think it's gone on long enough now. Assistants, close the door and leave us!"

Ms. O's two assistants scrambled out the glass doors and shut them behind them.

"Good, now we're alone." Ms. O grabbed another jellybean and leaned forward over her desk. "Agent O'Donahue, do you know what substance abuse is? And I'm not talking about Oprah's juice boxes or my jellybeans."

O'Donahue gave her a bemused smile. "Of course I do. You don't think I'm, like, a burnout, do you?"

"No, of course not! Otherwise I'd have kicked you off the squad immediately, and I know you know better than that." Ms. O gathered her long, sleek black hair in one hand and tossed it behind her. "But I _am_ worried about the company you've been keeping, when you're not at work." Holding up a hand before O'Donahue could protest, she went on. "I realize I'm not supposed to know about what my agents do after working hours. I also realize this is part of your thirty-year improvement project, which I am thankful to your partner for taking care of. However, I want to remind you that you _are_ one of my oldest and longest-serving agents. So…be careful, will you?"

"It's casual, Ms. O," he said with a smirk. "I can take care of myself."

One week later, Oprah got the phonecall.

* * *

One hour later from that, O'Donahue got slapped across the face.

"WHAT IN ODD'S NAME WERE YOU _THINKING?!_ " Oprah screamed in outrage. "YOU COULD HAVE BEEN _KILLED! ! !_ "

Rubbing a hand along his cheek and wincing, O'Donahue managed to reply, "Close the shades, will ya? We're in a hospital waiting room and people are staring—"

This earned him a slap on the other cheek. He tried again to reason with her. "Look, how was I s'posed to know the driver had been trippy with the unicorn tears?"

"Because you're an Odd Squad agent, genius!" Oprah yelled back, her voice sounding a little more choked up this time. "You are _trained_ to recognize anything strange, weird, and _especially odd!_ And that definitely includes the symptoms of DUIOUT!"

He sighed. "Look, Oprah, I—"

And that's when it dawned on him.

All this time.

 _All this time._

When she offered to take him to a Charlie Chaplin picture after he embarrassed himself at the Square Dance Night.

When she confronted him about his past with Olga and helped him work through it.

When she left the dance at the Club 24 in a foul temper after meeting those three girls.

When she let him go through his wild phase, even though she didn't totally approve.

All those times he had imagined taking her places…showing off his modern airs to impress her…watching her twirl in a skirt…playing with her hair…holding her in his embrace.

All those times he had imagined her imagining the same things in reverse.

They were true. All of them. For both him and her.

O'Donahue watched a single tear escape her eyelashes and run down her cheek before she angrily brushed it away. In over one hundred years, he couldn't recall ever seeing her cry.

 _God, her eyelashes are pretty when they're wet._

All this time.

All this time they'd seen each other only as partners.

And, more recently, _forced_ themselves to see each other only as partners.

And yet…

 _Well, now I have to admit it, don't I?_

"Oprah, I—I'm fine. I can't say the same about everyone who was in that van when it crashed—" he jerked his head in the direction of the ER "—but as for me, I survived and I am fine." With some difficulty he stood up from the stiff hospital armchair. "And I won't go out anymore if you don't want me to."

Oprah said not a word, but gazed up at him. Stepped closer until he felt her breathing. Avoided glancing at the bruises on his hands and knees, through his white shirt. Took his trembling hands in hers. Traced the long stitched-up gash on his forehead with her thumb.

"I started taking karate for protection," she whispered. "To defend myself while fighting off any odd villains." She leaned in closer. Another tear fell, this time she let it be, and it dripped onto the front of his shirt. "But why can't I use it to protect my own partner?"

O'Donahue had no answer to that. So he wrapped his arms around her instead. She did the same, hiding her face in his chest. Oprah, who'd never liked hugging. O'Donahue, who'd wanted to hug her for so long.

And in that moment, the truth came out of hiding, and they both knew.

* * *

Despite having no critical injuries, Ms. O still insisted O'Donahue take a full week off.

That left Oprah temporarily partnerless. To keep her busy, Ms. O had her do random assignments for her. One time she led a group of agents-in-training around Odd Squad Headquarters. Another time she graded two assistants on their performance for the day. Twice she was told to read and take notes over the Odd Squad Rulebook and the O Manual. And once she was even asked to answer the phone while Ms. O went on a brief business trip.

Mentally Oprah groaned at the pointlessness of these mundane tasks. After all, she'd been a full agent for over a century now, she'd done much more advanced work than this! Nevertheless she did it without any outward complaint—although a few times channeled her frustration at the recruits she was supposed to be leading on a tour.

Little did she know how much Ms. O was observing her.

* * *

On May 25 of 1977, the biggest pop culture phenomenon of all time struck the world.

That same day, O'Donahue didn't show up to work.

Coincidence? Oprah didn't think so.

At one point during the morning, her desk phone rang. "What's the buzz, O'D?" she answered, knowing very well who it was. "Lemme guess, you called in 'sick' today?"

"That's right, doll," came the reply. There was an odd buzzing noise in the background on the other end of the connection.

"Just how early did you get up to wait in line?" she asked, holding the phone with her shoulder as she searched for a case file.

He laughed. "Oh, I'm not in line yet. I decided to stop by the barbershop on the way."

"The _what?_ " Now it was Oprah's turn to laugh. "O'Donahue, are you actually getting a haircut?"

"You could say that." More buzzing noises, which were now obviously those of an electric razor. "It's not for you, though. I'm only stylin' after Harrison Ford's character."

"Har har. That doesn't include the outfit, does it?"

"Right on!"

"Oh, no." Oprah sighed. "I don't see why you're so psyched about this. It's just another yagalistic sci-fi flick. Everyone'll forget about it by next year."

"Are you serious? This is gonna be the biggest thing of the summer! Maybe even the decade! Just you wait and see, Oprah. There's never been anything like it before!"

"Does that mean I have to come watch it with you?"

"Well…it _is_ a better deal for me to buy two tickets instead of one. And I thought you were wanting a date night—"

"Shh! Not so loud!" she cut him off. "We're just partners, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, baby doll. Whatever you say."

Oprah could picture him winking, and she stifled a giggle. "Okay fine, I'll go. Better that than giving the extra ticket to any old foxy airhead, right?" There was a short chuckle on the other end, and she knew he got the joke. "Alright, check you later tonight, O'D." Hanging up, she found the fifty-year-old file on the Patternista kidnapping case and ran to deliver it to Ms. O.

And that was how O'Donahue talked Oprah into seeing _Star Wars_ with him on opening night. Sure enough, they were both so impressed that they stayed in the theater and watched it a second time. When they went to see _The Empire Strikes Back_ three years later (which this time, apart from one jibe comparing Master Yoda to Kermit the Frog, she took the release of very seriously), he even convinced her to wear a white dress and pin her hair up in two side buns like Princess Leia. Combined with his Han Solo look, they made the cutest couple in the movie theater.

* * *

Three more years went by.

In the early spring of 1983, Ms. O—Olesya—had a decision to make. It was almost time for her to retire. She'd been Ms. O for nearly sixty years now, and an Odd Squad agent for almost seventy years before that, and she was tired. With exception to Agents Oprah and O'Donahue, almost all of her old friends had left: Osage had retired the year Olesya was promoted, Obed not long after that; Ocelot and Oxley had been transferred to another squad during World War II; Orscheln quit her job after the war to work as a grownup forensic scientist; O'Sullivan had retired back in the sixties; and her own partner Agent Ogden had left during the Great Depression for reasons still unknown. Only Olmstead was left, and she too was planning to retire and appoint a new Head of Security soon anyhow. There was nothing much left in Odd Squad for Olesya, and for years now she had wanted more time to spend with her pet goldfish.

Just one problem remained: who her successor would be.

The obvious choice was Agent Oprah. For several years now, Olesya had secretly been watching her, and it was clear she had all the right qualities. Back when she was first promoted, Old Missie had even told Olesya so.

"Had you not come along, I might have promoted Oprah instead," Old Missie had admitted. "But even then, I wouldn't have wanted to separate her and O'Donahue. They're too good together as partners."

Which meant it was now up to Olesya to do that very thing.

She sighed and shook her head, her recently-permed hair bouncing as she did so. The problem wasn't the qualifications, of course. Over the past several years, she had secretly tested Oprah on her abilities to run an Odd Squad office, and Oprah had obliviously passed with flying colors. The final exam would be a test of loyalty in the form of a pretend case based on Olesya's own experience from decades before—which reminded her, she needed to talk to O'Donahue about that and let him in on her plan. And which brought up what the real problem was: what was going to happen to Agent O'Donahue when his partner was promoted?

He could potentially move into the Events & Support Department with Obfusco, just as Ogden had done. But something told Olesya he wouldn't like that very much. She could assign him a new partner, but that would be weird since Oprah wouldn't be transferring to another squad. The other possibility was that he could stay Oprah's partner, but shift into more of an adviser-to-the-boss role. Dr. Ozzington had done that for both Old Missie and Olesya herself until his retirement a decade ago, so it wasn't impossible to do.

Of course, it all depended on what O'Donahue himself _wanted_ to do.

Getting up from her desk, Olesya headed for the stool outside her office overlooking headquarters. "AGENT O'DONAHUE! IN MY OFFICE! LIKE, NOW!" she called.

 _No time like the present to find out_.

 **A/N The odd case that Oprah and O'Donahue investigated at the beginning of this chapter is based on the famous and entirely fictional _Candle Cove_ creepypasta. Look it up sometime, it's a fascinating story and one of my favorites!**

 **Another fun fact: Agent Olmstead, my OC from "Patterns of the Past" mentioned here who will make an appearance in the next chapter, is based on a girl at my school with the same last name.**


	11. The Outcast

**"All good things must come to an end..." — Geoffrey Chaucer**

The Outcast

"So do I have your agreement?"

O'Donahue waited a moment before he answered, studying his boss instead. Ms. O looked ever so slightly tense, fingering a jelly bean over and over again. It was comforting to know she wanted consent before she promoted his partner.

But not quite comforting enough.

Still, what could he say? "Oprah'll sure be stoked about getting picked to take your place," he began, trying to be chill about it. "I'm happy for her, really."

"But…?"

"But what happens to me?"

Ms. O gave him a sympathetic look. "I know this will be a hard adjustment for you. Ogden was never quite the same after I became Ms. O back in the day. Then again, I think transferring to Events & Support was a bogus decision for him." She leaned forward. "There is a spot open for you to be her adviser, if you want it. It's not really an official job, but it might give you a more suitable purpose while keeping Oprah as your partner."

O'Donahue thought about it. This was interesting. "Could I still solve cases?" he asked.

"Oh, totally! You'd most likely be solving them solo, but Oprah could still go solve them with you when she's not busy with everything else." Ms. O cracked a smile. "Even the boss can make it out into the field on occasion. And then it'll still feel like old times for you, right?"

He sighed, returning the smile halfheartedly. "Guess I don't got much of a choice, dude. Count me in."

"Cool beans," Ms. O said, visibly relaxing her shoulders and popping the jellybean in her mouth. "I'll fill you in on the details when we get closer to the test date on May 25. But for now, you can get back to work."

In spite of his disappointment, O'Donahue held back a chuckle as he stood up to go. For one, she hadn't yelled that last bit, and for another, she hadn't told him to tuck in his shirt. _Gotta count my blessings,_ he thought.

"Oh, and O'Donahue?"

He turned back around. "Yes, ma'am?"

"If Oprah asks about our meeting, tell her I found out about your secret little relationship and gave you a strict talking-to about staying kids and not flirting with other bow-heads."

O'Donahue's eyes widened. He felt himself turn red. "How did you—?"

"Never mind about that! Now tuck in your shirt and _totally get back to work!_ "

So much for counting blessings.

* * *

Oprah watched O'Donahue run down the stairs and jog over to her at their desks. Something seemed off about him. "So what's the haps?" she asked curiously. "Did Ms. O catch you spending too much time with the teasing comb?"

"Hey, speak for yourself!" he joked back, flicking her permed hair with the back of his hand before she swatted it away. "But no. We've, um, been discovered."

Oprah went cold.

"But it's cool!" he went on hurriedly. "She didn't kirk out or anything. Just reminded me not to go trippin' with other bow-heads and went on about remembering to stay kids and blah blah blah. Dunno if calling me up to the office was even worth it."

"If you say so." Oprah narrowed her eyes. Something was still off. He said that a little too quickly at the end. "Is that all?"

"Hmm…no, it's not." Grabbing his chair, he sat down close beside her and whispered, "I got us advance tickets to see _Return of the Jedi_."

"You did?" Oprah practically squealed. "Dude, that's wicked! I can't wait!"

"Oh, so _now_ you admit _Star Wars_ is awesome."

"Bag your face," she retorted with a smile, playfully swatting at him. "But really, that's so bonus! Although, it's kind of sad we won't be standing in line, waiting to buy our tickets on May 25 anymore, like we used to do."

The grin on O'Donahue's face faded. A shadow seemed to pass over his features. "Did you say…May 25?"

 _Uh-oh,_ she thought. _Something's wrong here._ "Yeah, that's when the release date is. It's when we were planning to go like usual, right?"

"Yeah…right…I'm gonna go, uh, check something out in the, uh, Pots and Pans Room. Uh, later!" And with that he hurried away—in the complete opposite direction of the Pots and Pans Room.

Oprah watched him go worriedly. _He's definitely got something on his mind,_ she thought. _It looks like he's disappointed. But he usually tells me everything that's bothering him._

 _So why wouldn't he tell me anything just now?_

* * *

May 25, 1983.

O'Donahue watched his partner get promoted.

It wasn't hard for him to pretend to be the totally-cool-yet-totally-clueless one during the "case". He'd rocked that role before, and Ms. O and Math Room were there to back him up. What _had_ been hard was walking away from her at the train station. O'Donahue could almost feel the confusion and anger radiating from Oprah and slamming into him from behind, though he couldn't bear to look at her face to know for sure. With the sunglasses on he pretended to feel less pain, but in reality, every step farther away was another reminder of his betrayal.

But all that melted away at the warehouse when she hugged him.

Still keeping up the bravado, he'd made his entrance from behind the pillar, whipped off his sunglasses, then did the classic handshake fake. Yet she saw through it all, and once Ms. O was gone, gave him what she normally wouldn't be caught dead in: a warm embrace.

"Hey, I mean it," O'Donahue said. "I'm happy for you. You worked hard, you deserve it."

"You think so?" She pulled away, looking at him with an unreadable expression. "This won't change anything between us, will it?"

O'Donahue chuckled. "Get real, baby doll," he said, using his classic pet nickname for her that he knew she loved. "You're still stuck with me because I get to be your official adviser now. Watch out, Oprah, 'cuz Olga is back in town."

"Oh, whatever!" Oprah grabbed his hand and began leading him outside to the tube entrance, chattering away about her new plans. "Let's see, Ms. O will need a day to move all her things out, which gives me time to move all of _my_ things out from my desk…I'll have to get a fresh suit, yes, gotta ask about that…should still have time for _Return of the Jedi_ tonight…"

With each excited comment she made, O'Donahue felt another stab of disappointment.

* * *

Olesya had been wrong.

It wasn't like old times at all.

Now that Oprah was the new Ms. O, she was busy all the time. Like, _all the time_. Things had been okay for O'Donahue at first, when she was still moving into the office and needed his help arranging things. ("Should the Rubik's Cube go on this shelf or that one?" "The photograph of me and Yucks at the fruit stand can't go there, it'll be hidden behind the plant." Or his favorite, "I want your drawing framed on my desk, not behind me where I can't see it!") But then the real work started coming in: phone calls, faxes, video footage about this odd case and that, plus requests from agents for her to oversee this procedure and that. At first, Oprah asked for his advice and assistance constantly, and he was only too happy to help. But as the year wore on, he saw her less and less. She didn't ask for his help as often anymore, sending him on solo cases or errands for her instead. And unlike Olesya had promised, she was never able to get out of the office to solve any cases with him.

Although he never wanted to admit it, O'Donahue could feel her slipping farther and farther away from him.

One evening, as everyone was starting to leave for home, as Oprah was ending a phone call from some guy named Cliff Hanger thanking the Odd Squad for finally rescuing him, he confronted her about it. "Oprah, why have you been casting me out?" he blurted.

She didn't answer, wouldn't meet his eyes. Her shoulders were slumped.

"You…you still care, right?"

Oprah opened her desk drawer and pulled out a wooden board and a container of purple paint. Wordlessly she got up and handed the board to him, then took a step back and rolled up her sleeves. O'Donahue held out the board and squeezed his eyes shut. Six seconds later there was a loud "Hi-yah!" and the board snapped clean in two.

O'Donahue opened his eyes. "What was that for?"

In answer, Oprah held up the container of paint. "Fingerpainting, of course. Now there's one for each of us."

He blinked. "Huh?"

She smiled and picked up the two halves of the board, handing one back to him. "The old Ms. O told me it's in my job description to be a kid, even as the boss. Better after hours with you than never, right?"

O'Donahue looked at his half of the board, then back at her. "Does this mean yes?"

"Of course it does, you narbo!" Oprah punched him on the arm playfully. "Now come on. I've been aching to fingerpaint all day."

Hours later, sitting on one of the couches, Oprah had fallen asleep on his shoulder. The long day had taken its toll on her. As O'Donahue stealthily slipped her painting off her lap and onto the coffee table, he realized just how much he'd missed this. Just him and Oprah, together forever, out to conquer the world and fight oddness. She hadn't answered his first question, but O'Donahue didn't particularly care anymore. Because he realized she also knew she'd started slipping away, and tonight was her way of fixing that. Or at least trying to. But as O'Donahue put his arm around her and began drifting off to sleep, he knew it was a step in the right direction. Oprah hadn't left him yet, and maybe one of these days, when everything settled down for her, it really would be like old times again.

At least, that's what he believed. Until the morning the ball room burst its banks.

* * *

To this day, no one knows exactly what had happened in the Ball Pit Control Room back in 1984. But one minute everything was quiet, the next everything was drowned out by the Code Topaz klaxons. O'Donahue, wrapped up in a game of Pac-Man Solitaire at the juice bar, didn't notice at first until he saw Oprah dash out from the office to her stool. When he heard her cry of alarm, he forgot all about his game and ran to join her. What he saw took his breath away.

Below them, Odd Squad agents were knee-deep in brightly-colored plastic balls.

"How did this happen?" O'Donahue shouted over the alarms.

Just then, Agent Olmstead popped up beside them, completely out of breath. "I'm sorry, Ms. O!" she panted, her caramel side ponytail in static disarray. "I don't know what happened! Security tried to stop it, but the balls just kept coming!"

"Then why didn't you sound the alarm sooner? Or come get me?" Oprah shouted back.

"I don't know, I wasn't thinking straight! I'm sorry!"

Oprah waved her away. "Never mind, we'll talk later! Get everyone out of here, NOW!"

As Olmstead scurried off, Oprah grabbed O'Donahue's hand. "Come on, partner, we gotta jet! To the control room, before it's too late!"

Before he could reply, she dragged him over to the slide and down they went, plunging into the rising balls below. Off she went toward the hallways, and O'Donahue struggled to follow. "Oprah, wait up!" he shouted after her, when suddenly he heard it: a deep creaking and groaning within the building's foundations.

 _Uh-oh. That can't be good._

"Oprah, what's the plan?" he called, wading through the balls.

She didn't answer, just kept on going. Hoping for the best, O'Donahue followed her until they rounded a corner—and found their way completely blocked by a mountain of balls stretching from floor to ceiling. Worse, it was rapidly sliding forward and threatening to overtake them.

Oprah was frozen, rooted to the spot in horror. "That's not possible! The control room is just ahead!" was all she could shout.

O'Donahue grabbed her hand and yanked her back. "Oprah, come on! There's gotta be another way, but we gotta book it out of here!"

At that moment, a change seemed to come over her. She suddenly seemed tired and world-weary, in a way O'Donahue hadn't seen her since that day in 1946. Then she turned around and began making her way through the now-waist-deep balls to the hallway leading to the Tube Lobby. "We have to abandon headquarters!" she yelled over her shoulder. "NOW!"

Maybe it was his imagination, but the klaxons seemed to get louder and more feverish in their blaring. _What did she just say?_ O'Donahue thought in shock. "No, Oprah, listen!" he shouted back, close behind her. "Don't give up, there's still time! If we work together, we can save the squad!" Then he did something he hadn't done since before her promotion: "Oh yeah!" he said with an expectant grin, holding up his hand and waiting for her high-five.

But instead, Oprah just stared at him.

O'Donahue's grin faded. "Oprah?" _Why isn't this working? We're partners, this is what we always do. Isn't it?_ "Don't leave me hanging, Oprah!" he said desperately, a sickening feeling spreading in his gut. _I don't believe it. She's gonna do it._

 _She's gonna leave me hanging._


	12. The Shattered

**A/N As we come to the end of Part 1, I'd like to say a huge thank-you to all of you lovely readers for supporting this story, especially the following:**

 **Reviewers: MinecraftDanny['s cousin], Ambidextrous Drummer, Everlynn Flame, Hope Naomi, aliceine, and Lily;**

 **Favorite/Followers: Alana Smithy, Ambidextrous Drummer, Basil Grey, Fanaconadaal,** **MinecraftDanny['s cousin], Perilheart, and Shenokzo.**

 **Thank you all so very much, you have no idea how much I appreciate the wonderful support! :D**

The Shattered

Oprah stared at her partner's expectant high-five. She knew what he was thinking: that the two of them were an unbeatable pair who would stop at nothing to get the job done. But this wasn't like old times. This wasn't two partners assigned to a case. This was Ms. O failing at her job just one year in. And O'Donahue didn't understand that.

She watched the grin melt away. "Oprah?" he said in disbelief. "Don't leave me hanging, Oprah!"

But as much as it pained her, that's exactly what Oprah did. "It's too late, O'Donahue," she said heavily, turning away. "We can't save it now. We'll just have to build a new headquarters somewhere else."

As she continued on toward the Tube Lobby, some subconscious part of her was dimly aware of her partner's " _Noooooo…!"_ of protest that seemed to echo on forever. But the rest of her was deaf to it.

After all, she wasn't really responsible for him as a partner anymore.

* * *

Years later, Oprah would tell three of her agents—Olive, Otto, and Owen—that it had been the worst day of her life. However, this wasn't entirely true. After headquarters was evacuated and completely submerged in balls, Agent Obfuscolina had the idea to contact the Mole People. Upon their arrival, the humanoid moles tunneled underground and created several breaches, then connected these breaches to the Odd Squad Tubes. This created a sort of giant vacuum, and by the end of the day all the balls were gone. Meanwhile, Oprah contacted Professor O at the Big Office to explain what had happened and request six new Control Balls. Professor O granted the request, but warned her that if this ever happened again, she would automatically lose her position as Ms. O. This was why she awarded Olive and Otto the Director's Medal of Honor thirty years later, because unknown to the two agents, they had saved her career as well as her Odd Squad Headquarters. It was also why she exaggerated a little when telling them she had lost way more headquarters than one, so they wouldn't suspect.

In the end, Oprah also exaggerated about building another new headquarters somewhere else. This headquarters building was badly damaged from the ball flood, but it was still salvageable enough to restore within a few short months. So while she may have called it the worst day of her life, there had actually been a hopeful ending to it.

No, the _real_ worst day of her life came later that same year, on August 4th of 1984. And it began with two little words.

* * *

"I quit."

Oprah couldn't believe her ears. She must have heard him wrong. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me," O'Donahue said in a level voice. "I'm quitting."

"No, you're not," she said, a short laugh of disbelief in her voice. "Not for this case. We've solved harder ones before, surely you would know that!"

"We?" O'Donahue shook his head. " _We_ haven't solved a case together in over a year. And why would we? You're too busy being the boss. You don't have time for investigation anymore."

 _Oh, no._ She was slowly beginning to realize her worst fear was coming true. "But I did today!" she insisted. "Look, I'm right here with you! You asked for my help and I came!"

"But _only_ after you were finished being busy at your new job," he countered. "You told me to wait until you had a spare moment, and that was _last week!_ "

Oprah had no answer to that. She'd never seen O'Donahue this angry before. His anger was different from her own, though: where hers was hot and quick to flare, his was cold and slow but steady. It frightened her, so she tried to change the subject. "Okay look, let's focus on the case. We have two gigantic dashes in the wooden planks on the pier, right here. The sandcastles on the eastern half of the beach were left alone, but the ones on the western half were destroyed, and one of the ruined sandcastles was moved over there to the eastern half—"

"Oprah."

"O'Donahue, listen, we'll go to the Math Room, we can do this—"

"No, we can't. Why won't you relate, Oprah? I've been trying to solve this case for weeks now, and so far you haven't done anything to help."

"But I only just started—"

"I'm not finished."

"Neither am I!"

"But _we_ are."

"…Excuse me?"

"I know you heard me, Oprah," he said coldly. "We're finished. Through. If you really wanted to help me—if you really _cared_ —you'd've come when I needed it. And if you really needed my help as an adviser, you'd have taken me off the case instead of keeping me out in the field."

Oprah wanted to protest. But a little voice in the back of her mind stopped her. _He's right,_ it said. _If you really cared about him, you'd have stopped this from happening._

 _SHUT UP!_ she wanted to scream back. _Yes I DO care!_ But the words wouldn't come.

All she could say was, "You're making a mistake. We've been through everything together, you'd be juiced to leave now—"

"Juiced? Ha!" O'Donahue barked out a bitter laugh. "Says the Joanie who's actually on the juice. Oh, the irony." With that, he calmly shrugged out of his uniform jacket and put on his red-framed sunglasses. "Never thought I'd have to say this again, but Oprah—" he flung his jacket over one shoulder and hoisted his invisible stereo over the other "—it's been real."

And without a backward glance, Oprah's partner of 114 years was gone.

She watched him go.

He was still wearing that blue Hawaiian shirt after fifteen months.

The first tear pricked at her eyelid.

It was then that Oprah lost all awareness. She would dimly remember collapsing in the sand, then finding herself in the Math Room while Yucks handed her a juicebox, then popping out of the tubes into her office, then examining the tear stains on her face at home that night. The next morning Oprah woke up angry, and stayed that way ever since.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Finally it was over.

Still shaky, breaths shuddering, Ms. O stood up and looked around. No one had come. No one had spotted her. Thanking her lucky jackalope stars, she began making her way down the hall outside the warehouse to her office, resolving to call him at last once she got back. Ms. O didn't know it yet, but during that phone call she would learn two important things. One was that he could have left the jacket and badge at the beach on that day, yet didn't. The other was that when he'd walked away, he'd been crying too.

She couldn't know any of that. But for the first time in too long, she felt a sense of peace. Maybe today _was_ the day, after all.

Meanwhile, back in the Odd Squad Warehouse, Olive and Oscar began their story.


	13. Part 2: Two Ships

X X X

* * *

 **Part 2: Two Ships**

 _ **1996-2013**_

* * *

X X X

* * *

Featured Episodes and Stories:

"Oscar of All Trades"

"The Curious Case of Pirate-itis"

"All Mixed Up!"

"Dance Like Nobody's Watching"

"Rise of the Hydraclops"

"Olive's Last Partner"

"Training Day"

"Whatever Happened to Agent Oz?"

"The O Games"


	14. The Geek and the Nerd

**A/N So I did the math today, and discovered that with my busy school schedule, there's no way I'll be able to finish all 40 chapters before the season finale comes out. :( But hopefully I can come pretty close, and updates will still be frequent, of course.**

 **Also, as you all read on, you may notice that I took a few liberties when writing this section, and in a few cases I completely changed the plots of some episodes (DISCLAIMER: I try to avoid doing that unless it's absolutely necessary for my story to work). This is mostly because I need things to fit with my other fanfic "Olive's Last Partner", but it's also often to smooth over continuity issues with the show itself. (For example, in "Oscar of All Trades" there's never been a Department of Science, yet we see two scientists pictured earlier in the timeline in "Fistful of Fruit Juice"?!) Just please know that I am probably 100% aware of these changes, which I am allowed to make as a semi-non-canonical fan fiction writer. :)**

 **DISCLAIMER: I realize most of you already know the above. That was just for the trolls who don't.**

 **OTHER DISCLAIMER: In addition to changes, there will also be some (not many, but a few) lengthy explanations for things for the same reasons, as well as more stuff about home lives. You have been warned, but I needed them to make things work.**

 **Anyhoo, that's enough of that. Enjoy the beginning of Part 2! And I gotta say, this chapter's title is my favorite of all the titles ^_^**

* * *

The Geek and the Nerd

Two kids sitting side by side.

One a boy, one a girl.

One four years old, the other six.

One with glasses and braces, the other without.

One with long hair in a braid, the other's close-cropped.

One holding a medical journal, the other clutching a teddy bear.

Both blonde.

Both brown-eyed.

Both wearing long-sleeved recruitment T-shirts.

And both very, very nervous.

They were each seated in the two chairs in front of Ms. O's desk, waiting for her to return and view their Odd Squad Academy test reports. But in the meantime, they had nothing to do but worry about what she would think of them. See, these two kids were different from normal recruits because they both qualified for Head of Department roles. The only problem was whether Ms. O actually _needed_ two Heads of Departments at this time. Or even whether she needed any new agents at all.

Eventually, the boy tried to make small talk. "I wonder what's t-taking her so long, heh," he said in a squeaky stutter, looking over at the girl expectantly.

The girl didn't return the glance, but kept staring straight ahead. "I don't know," she said, sounding annoyed with him. "I'm a recruit, not her adviser."

The boy pursed his lips and looked away. "Okay then," he mumbled. But it wasn't too long before he tried again. "So h-how long were you in th-the Academy?"

"Four years," came the terse reply.

He whistled. "Wow. Th-that's my whole life. S-see, I was only there for six months—"

"It's because the position I want requires it," she cut him off. "And I need four more years of working on it here before I can get the job."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I-I-I didn't know. So…you kn-know what you want to d-do, then?"

The girl made no reply.

"I'll, uh, t-take that as a yes," he said, looking down at his lap. "I wish _I_ knew what I wanted to do. My teacher, th-this guy named Peter, he just told me I'd be good at that sort of thing. Y'know, b-being Head of Whatever. I'll p-probably end up trying different things, heh."

That got her interested. "What do you mean?" she asked, turning her head sharply to look at him for the first time. "How did you pass the Odd Squad Test?"

"Huh?"

"You just said you don't know what you want to do. But in order to pass the test, you have to declare a Department so they can give you a special exam. You can't pass the test without it. So how did you?"

The boy shrugged. "I d-dunno. Peter told me to do s-something I was good at."

"And what is that?"

"Building stuff."

"Hmm." The girl thought for a moment. "Like gadgets? Did he have you build gadgets?"

"Um…I g-guess so?"

"Aha. That would be Sci—"

"Wait," he stopped her. "I d-don't want to do that, though."

The girl gave him a quizzical look. "Why not?"

"Well, it's…it's kind of p-personal. It was either j-join Odd Squad or do what my g-grandma said and become an altar boy for the r-rest of my life, heh. She didn't want me to become another scientist like my dad…" He trailed off, hugging his teddy bear tighter.

Suddenly taking pity on him, the girl didn't know what to do. She prided herself on being good at identifying and solving problems, but this was something different. She wasn't very good at reading people. "Oh. I see," she said finally, racking her brains for something, anything, she could say. _What do people talk about when there's nothing to talk about?_ she wondered. _The weather? We're inside. Jobs? We don't have those yet. Home life? Any more than what he already said is against Odd Squad rules. What about—wait a minute…_

"You know, I never got your name," she realized aloud, holding out her hand. "Mine's Opal. What's yours?"

The boy looked at her hand, then rewarded her efforts with an awkward smile. "Oscar," he said, taking her hand and shaking it. "N-nice to meet you, Opal. Oh, a-and the bear is Norman."

"Nice to meet you both, Oscar and Norman," she said stiffly, but now with a smile of her own to match.

* * *

"RECRUITS! ! !"

Oscar and Opal whirled around to find a small yet intimidating older girl of about seven with short, sideswept curly hair and wearing a purple suit. "Ms. O!" they both shouted in unison, scrambling to their feet.

"Sit back down!" she ordered, to which they quickly complied. "Now," she went on, making her way to the armchair behind her desk and grabbing a juice box, "are you the two recruits that Agent Obfuscolina and Agent Peter told me about?"

They both nodded.

"I see." Sitting down, Ms. O pulled out two heptagon-shaped files and opened the first one. "So you're Opal," she read, "and you qualify for Head of Medical Department."

"It's my goal to be the next Dr. O," Opal affirmed with another nod. "I've already learned the recipe for pickle poultices and how to identify symptoms of the Honking Cough. I've also—"

"That's enough, Opal," Ms. O interrupted, holding up a hand. "It just so happens you're in luck. Our last real Dr. O retired in '73, and no one's been able to fill the position ever since Ozzington left fifteen years ago." Ms. O moved on to the next file. "And your name is Oscar, and you qualify for…" She stopped and squinted at the transcript. "The Limit Does Not Exist, parentheses-Gadgetry?" Ms. O looked up at him. "Why did Agent Peter list you like that?"

Oscar looked embarrassed. "Because I don't know what I want to do," he replied meekly.

"Then how did you—?"

"He passed the Odd Squad Test because he's good at building gadgets," Opal interrupted. "But he doesn't think he wants to head the Department of Science because his grandma said he wasn't allowed to be another scientist like his dad."

Oscar blushed and looked down at Norman.

"Is that so?" Ms. O said. "Well, he's got a point about not going into Science. We don't have that department anymore, actually."

"You don't?" the two recruits asked, surprised.

Ms. O shook her head. "Besides being a fill-in Dr. O, Ozzington was also the Lab Director, and all of the scientists at the time loved him. When he left in '81 and no one was qualified to fill the position, they all quit. I had to turn the old lab into a gift shop so we wouldn't have wasted space. But on the other hand…" she eyed Oscar pointedly, "…if you wanted to, we _could_ make you Lab Director and you could rebuild the Department of Science. That way our Investigation agents wouldn't have to make and repair their own gadgets anymore. How does that sound?"

"I d-don't know…" Oscar began to fidget. "C-can I think about it?"

"Well…" Ms. O thought for a long moment. "I really would prefer you go into Science if you're good at it, but if you don't feel that you should… I _suppose_ we could give you temporary jobs in the different departments while Opal finishes her medical school and gets her nursing prerequisite out of the way. Yes, that's what we'll do. That way, if you find you're a better fit in another department, we can put you there. I also recommend you visit the labs at other Odd Squad branches, just to see if you'd like being Lab Director after all. And then when that's all done, of course, I'll make you and Opal partners and you can do your three years of Investigation together."

"Do _what?_ " Opal asked, confused. "What do you mean, three years of Investigation?"

"Obfuscolina didn't tell you?" Ms. O asked, equally confused. "Oh well, I'll explain it to you now. According to the Odd Squad Rulebook, anyone qualified to be a Department Head has to first spend three years working in the Investigation Department. And since you and Oscar are both qualified and joined at the same time, I'll have you do your three years together. For lack of training, I don't expect you to be the best in the field, it's just for the experience. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Ms. O," the two recruits said in unison.

"Good. Now, what's next?" Ms. O flipped through both of the files. "Let's see…good training scores…you've both had your tour of HQ… aha, badge numbers! 56 for Oscar and 44 for—uh-oh…"

"What is it, Ms. O?" Opal asked worriedly.

"It's your number," Ms. O explained. "Odd Squad badge numbers are decided by adding up the letters of your name. The problem is, according to the rulebook there can only be one agent with any badge number per department. And we already have a nurse named Agent Otha, and her number is 44. So when that happens, the rulebook states we either have to use a different name or add another letter to your first name."

While Opal thought this over, Oscar had an idea. "W-what about adding the f-first letter of her last name? Opal, what does your l-last name start with?"

"P."

"Okay, so P is the sixteenth letter of the alphabet," Oscar began.

"Right, and if I add 16 to 44," Ms. O grabbed a pencil and did some quick calculations on the back of Opal's file, "then that equals 60. Nobody in the Medical Department has a badge number of 60, so looks like it's all yours." Reaching into a desk drawer, she pulled out two badges numbered 56 and 60. "Now, before I can give these to you, there's one last page that you each need to fill out." Ms. O took the back page from each file and gave them to the two agents. The page was titled, "Aging Options and Consent Form", and below the title were three check boxes and a brief description of each option. At the bottom was a dotted line and some fine print.

"What's this for?" Oscar asked, adjusting his glasses to see the writing better.

"This is where you decide how you want to age while you're an Odd Squad agent," Ms. O said. "You have three choices: age like normal and leave the squad when you turn thirteen, keep the age you are now—so Oscar, you would stay four and Opal would stay six—and be that old until you quit, or age very slowly and put off your final decision until you're close to turning thirteen. I need to know so I can activate the right component in your badges."

The two recruits stared at it. Neither was sure what to say.

"Okay…um, do you both want the third option, so you'll have more time to decide?"

Still no comment.

"I NEED A DECISION, PEOPLE!"

"Third!" they gasped out suddenly.

"Good. Now put a check in the box and hand it back to me when you've signed and dated it. Today's date is August 4th, 1996, by the way." For a moment her eyes looked distant, but then she blinked and was fine again.

Opal and Oscar did as she said, and Ms. O filed away the papers again. "That's all I have for you," she said, pressing a hidden switch on each badge and handing it to them. "Your locker number is the same as your badge number, and you should find your uniform capsules there. Opal, report to the Medical Bay immediately, and Oscar, start at the Tube Lobby for now. Welcome to Odd Squad, agents."

The recruits-turned-agents took their badges eagerly, Oscar grinning like a puppy and Opal unable to hide a smile behind her stoic demeanor.

But their excitement was short-lived. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Ms. O shouted. "GO!"

In a panic, they hopped up and bolted out of the office—or at least tried to, in Oscar's case. He ended up smacking his face into the glass door, and out of nowhere an air raid siren sounded. "Sorry!" he called. "My nose d-does that and I don't know how to s-stop it!"

Ms. O sighed and shook her head. _Hope I don't regret ignoring his oddities…_ she thought to herself, sipping her juice box.

 **A/N Forgot one thing, in answer to reviews from Dinah and Uyen Tran: those are both chapters I already have planned, yes. :)**


	15. The Dreamer

**A/N Random little story here. A week and a half ago, on Wednesday morning of January 20th, the old abandoned self-named 'meth lab' house (named that way because it was faded green and overgrown and abandoned and smelled weird) directly across the street from my grandparents two blocks away from where I live burned completely to the ground. The vinyl siding on my grandparents' house melted and wrinkled, and the neighbors next to the house lost their Buick and restored vintage VW Beetle. Meanwhile, the remains of the house itself have become my new obsession/fascination, and I go by there every day to identify remains of things (like the old grand piano I once saw peeking through the windows before the fire, and now there's almost nothing left of it) and take a million pictures. So I put a poll on Twitter, and everyone seems to think I have a major problem and I need to go get therapy XD XD XD**

 **Seriously, though. I am way too obsessed with poking around that burned-down house and I have to tell everyone about it, even on here. And it's kind of weird because I'm extremely pyrophobic...**

 ***cricket chirps***

 **Anyhoo, once again this chapter deviates quite a bit from the canon, so there's that. Otherwise, hope I did a good job of keeping Oscar in character. Enjoy!**

The Dreamer

The next morning, against his better judgement, Oscar went to visit the Vancouver squad.

And, for the first time ever, rode the tubes.

"Incoming!"

As he popped out of his yellow ball and into the Tube Lobby, Oscar picked up his broken glasses and put them on as best he could. _Next time I ride in the tubes,_ he thought ruefully, _I need to hold on to these._

"Are you the new agent from Toronto?"

Oscar looked up. Sitting at the console in front of him was an agent wearing a huge fur hat. "Um, y-yeah?" he said with a wince, jaw hurting as he tried to talk. _Man, that tube ride messed with my braces._ He made a mental note to let the orthodontist know to loosen them at the next appointment.

"Oh, good. My name's Omakov. Your Ms. O called a little while ago and said you'd be here. Agent Odie's waiting for you in his lab."

"Oh. Um, okay, th-thanks." Oscar headed for the door and ran straight into a brick wall.

"Sorry, it's the other door!" Omakov called.

Eventually, Oscar found his way to the lab, where he saw a tall, older agent with a white lab coat and a blonde mullet cleaning a test tube. "Exc-cuse me," he said, clearing his throat nervously. "Are y-you Agent Odie?"

"That would be me." The scientist looked up. "Oh, you must be Oscar!" he said, setting down the test tube to shake his hand. "Welcome to Odd Squad."

"Thanks," Oscar said, smiling awkwardly. "So…I g-guess I'm supposed to ask w-what it's like running a lab?"

"Yes, you are. And I'm supposed to convince you that you shouldn't work as a Tube Operator, apparently," Odie replied, glancing at Oscar's uniform with no small amount of disgust.

"Oh, well—it's only f-for now. While I'm u-undecided."

Odie's expression was unreadable. "I see. Well, sit down," he offered gruffly, leading him to two swivel chairs in a corner of the room. "We can chat here."

As it turned out, Oscar ended up staying the entire work day to chat with Agent Odie. He learned lots of things about the Department of Science and what being a Lab Director was like. ("You don't wait for an odd case to invent a gadget. You invent the gadget first, and _then_ wait for an odd case that'll need it.") As he hopped in the tubes to go home, Oscar decided that whether he went into Science or not, he would always see Odie as the best Lab Director in the world. Not to mention the one with the best hair. _That mullet, though,_ he thought. _May have to grow one for myself, heh._

Upon his return to the Toronto squad (which went a lot smoother this time), Oscar stepped out to find an Investigation agent arguing with the Tube Operator. "This is ridiculous, O'Brian!" the agent shouted angrily, jabbing a finger at the tubes. "How am I expected to get home if you're tube-blocking me?"

O'Brian shrugged. "You're the one who made me mad, Orbot," he replied flippantly.

Orbot stamped his foot. "That's it! I'm reporting this to Ms. O!" And with that, he stormed out of the Tube Lobby.

As Oscar drew nearer, O'Brian flashed him a wicked grin. "It's the last time he'll ever report to her," he said maliciously, pressing a few buttons on the console. "Nobody messes with the Tube Operators. Right, new guy?"

Oscar gulped and nodded. "R-right, heh," he agreed, mentally resolving both never to mess with O'Brian and to never become a bully while he was Tube Operator.

* * *

As fate would have it, his career as a Tube Operator turned out to be very short-lived. Oscar managed to hold the position for about three months (during which time he was indeed able to grow his hair out into a mullet) before it became clear that the console refused to cooperate with his touch. After creating pineapple after pineapple and ejecting himself through the ceiling one too many times, Ms. O decided he needed to try a different career.

Next, after copying Odie again and growing out his mullet, he went into Security. Agent Olmstead, still around after fifteen years of insisting on retiring, was naturally rather antsy for someone to take over. However, her initial excitement at gaining a potential qualifier faded as Oscar proved to be the most distracted Security agent she had. Though he stayed on the force for nearly a full year, it became very clear he didn't even _like_ the job after Olmstead made him feed worms to the escaped goldfish _and_ caught him fixing gadgets on the job day after day. So she suggested that he switch departments again, especially after hearing the news that a new qualifying recruit named Owen was joining and had real potential to take over the job.

Lifeguard, Concession Salesman, Air Conditioner Repairman, and Segway Driver came next over the course of the following year, but those too fell flat. Plus, Ms. O had to step in when it became obvious that none of these were even remotely close to Head of Department jobs. So Oscar tried his hand at being a Cafeteria Worker, but Oksana didn't like the idea of anyone bossing her around in her own department, and she made sure he didn't last a day. "Agent Ocean altered my planned career enough," she remarked in her usual monotone as he traded in his Kitchen uniform. "Pray I don't have another joker alter it any further."

Oscar gave her a quizzical look. This wasn't the first time he'd heard that name mentioned. "Wh-who's Agent Ocean?"

Oksana merely glared at him and he fell silent. "None of your business," was all she said.

Eight months later, Oscar stopped by the Odd Squad Gift Shop to visit Opal. "Did you get fired from being a Greeter?" she asked casually as he walked in.

"Yeah," Oscar sighed. "Let in t-too many villains, and Olmstead and her new a-apprentice Owen had to herd them out. Ms. O said it w-wasn't even a real d-department, anyhow."

"Neither is this stupid gift shop," Opal grumbled, glancing around at all the paraphernalia. "I'm only working here because nursing doesn't pay the tuition for medical school by itself. I don't even like this uniform!"

Oscar eyed the apron and flowery shirt worn over her scrubs. "It is a l-little, um, excessive," he agreed.

"But back to you," Opal went on. "What's next?"

He shrugged. "I've t-tried nearly everything. Either I d-don't like the department, or I get f-fired for being terrible at my job. Nothing's w-worked. Only thing left is to b-be Ms. O's assistant, and that's n-not Head of Department at all."

Opal raised an eyebrow at him. "You're forgetting one."

"Yeah, yeah, Department of Science, I kn-know."

"Have you talked to any other Lab Directors in the past three years?"

Oscar scratched his head. "A little. I m-met Odelia in Tokyo, but sh-she kept scaring me with p-pranks. Not sure if I l-liked her or not. And I s-still visit Odie sometimes. But now that y-you mention it, I h-haven't been to Montréal yet to s-see Agent O'Quinncy."

"There you go," Opal said. "First thing tomorrow you can go visit him. Maybe he can tell you a few more things about being a Lab Director."

* * *

"…And so I was like, 'Aw no, man, the pleasure's all mine.' And he was like, 'You oughta stop by and visit me sometime, Super Fun Man. Y'know, for tea and whatever.' And I was like, 'Well, I don't really drink tea 'cuz hot liquids are bad for my braces, but I do like milk…'"

 _Gah, is he ever done?_ Oscar thought, half-asleep from hours of listening to that drawling voice. _I could probably leave right now and he wouldn't even notice._

"But that's enough of that," Agent O'Quinncy finally finished. "You have braces too, I don't need to tell you stuff you already know. On to the _real_ business of why you're here."

Oscar perked up. "T-to learn more about being a L-Lab Director."

"Exactly!" Reaching under the lab counter they were sitting at, O'Quinncy pulled out a gadget and tossed it to Oscar. "Here's a gadget I invented once. Tell me about this old thing. What kind of gadget is it, and how does it need to be fixed?"

It took less than a second for Oscar to answer. "Looks like a 3D-inator, for giving depth to flat objects. Its trigger is broken and keeps misfiring, which can be fixed by rewinding the springs, oiling all of the inside chambers with gooseberry jam, and banging it against a hard surface six times." Suddenly he stopped. "Did I s-say all that?"

O'Quinncy was grinning broadly. "Spoken like a true Scientist! Dunno why there was ever a question about it, if you ask me."

"Oh, well…p-personal reasons…" Oscar mumbled.

"Ah, okay," O'Quinncy said, nodding slowly (making it unclear whether he really understood or not). "Hmmm… Well, while you're making up your mind, I've got something that might help you out." Reaching inside his lab coat, he pulled out a boxed set of videocassettes and held them out. "You should borrow these. Bill might show you a side of Science different than what you already think of it. Not to mention all of his lab workers are kids trained by the Odd Squad Academy."

Oscar flipped through the videos. "Bill Nye the Science Guy?" he asked, looking back up at O'Quinncy with a befuddled look on his face.

"Hey," O'Quinncy said with a wink, "if Bill made science rule on PBS, maybe he'll do the same thing for you on Odd Squad."

* * *

Oscar stared at the empty armchair in front of him in horror. His horror quickly turned to dread as Ms. O, sprawled on the floor, turned her head upward to face him with an expression of utter disapproval. "I'm f-fired, aren't I?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Oh, yeah." Ms. O hopped up and chaired herself in a huff. "Since you're so good at estimating, that makes how many jobs you quit or were fired from?"

"A-about sixty?"

"About sixty," Ms. O repeated. Opening a drawer in her desk, she pulled out Oscar's file folder. "Agent Peter is almost never wrong, you know," she went on, a hint of reluctance in her voice. "If he says you're qualified for Head of a Department, then you are, no matter how many jobs you've failed. _However_ , I think it's fair to say that none of our Departments here suit you."

Oscar fought to keep his expression neutral. _What's that supposed to mean?_

"Except, perhaps, for one."

 _Oh. Of course._ "Ms. O, I—"

" _Which_ is why I have a job for you." Setting the file folder aside, she rolled out a large blueprint. "This is a map of Odd Squad Headquarters. Agent Olmstead has informed me that our booby trap system is out of date, and because she's retiring soon and her replacement Owen hasn't had any training yet, I need someone else to invent a new one. It needs to have at least three different varieties of traps, and we need them in these places—" she grabbed a purple marker and circled the Tube Lobby entrances, the two central hallways, and the main foyer. That done, Ms. O rolled up the blueprint and handed it to Oscar. "If you need any lab equipment, all the stuff left over from the old lab is stored in the back room behind the Gift Shop."

Oscar took it nervously. "B-but what if I fail this one, t-too? Or if I d-don't like the job?"

Ms. O smiled at him. "Agents Odie, Odelia, and O'Quinncy seem to think otherwise. I have faith in you. Besides, consider this a way to redeem yourself after letting in all the villains when you were a Greeter. After all, the alternative is always leaving Odd Squad."

"Say no more!" Quickly Oscar scrambled out of the office, leaving behind a chuckling Ms. O. At least, she was chuckling until she realized she had just given away her last copy of the Map of Headquarters.

 _Wonderful,_ she thought angrily to herself. _Now I have to get a new one drafted. With only five months to the new millennium, surely someone will invent an easier way to hand out documents in the future. Maybe if all my agents had some sort of tablet that could receive electronic copies…_

 _Eh. That'll never work._

* * *

On January 19th, 2000, Oscar (he guessed he was at least five now) more than proved his worth for founding and directing the new generation of the Department of Science.

It took the better part of the night before that, but by 2:56 in the morning he had the entire booby trap system installed and tested. Agent O'Duffy happily came in early to set the disabling code, promising his memory was sharp as a tack and he would never forget it. Oscar likewise promised himself to remember the patterns he set the traps on, just in case they went off by accident. _White-black, pink-green-green, and down-up-right-left,_ he reminded himself. _How hard can that be?_

Scooping up all the frozen and stone objects he'd tested with, Oscar carried them to the back room behind the Gift Shop and dropped them off there. What he needed to know now was if there was a gadget that could turn the objects back to normal, or if he'd have to figure out how to invent one. _Oh, if Dr. Forrester could see me now,_ he thought with a laugh as he started off in the direction of the Odd Squad Library. _His own son, thinking like a true scientist._

Once in the darkened library, it didn't take long for Oscar to find the book he was looking for, Odd Squad: A History in Gadgetry (Toronto, ON, Canada). He flipped open to the first page to begin at the first entry, dated 1915—and went cold.

Staring back at him was the ugliest and most terrifying creature he had ever seen.

Curious, Oscar read the caption below. " _The Hydraclops during its centennial rising from Lake Ontario, as photographed by Agent Orscheln (Dept. of Science), 1915. Last major case to be solved without any use of modern gadgets."_ He quickly did the math. Centennial meant 100, which meant one hundred years after 1915 was…2015. "That's only fifteen years from now!" Oscar whispered to himself. "I gotta know more about this."

All prior intents and purposes forgotten, Oscar put the book back and frantically searched for the Encyclopedia of Odd Creatures and the Book of Prophecies. Sure enough, under the letter H in the encyclopedia was the same picture. He skimmed through the description and learned that the Hydraclops, at the time the photo was taken, was about 900 years old and would begin to bring his brothers and sisters up with him after his first millennial appearance. Below were two diagrams, one of a 2014 calendar with Friday, June 13 as the circled date, and the other of the anatomy of a Hydraclops. The second image had an arrow drawn to the nose, with a note written about having a "large nasal capacity" and a sensitive sense of smell. Meanwhile, in the prophecy book, Oscar flipped past prophecies about a destroyed Encryptor Chip and a tapestry with the words "I Am That Is" to the H section. He found that the monster typically appeared once every hundred years, but would make an exception if the year before the scheduled due date had only one Friday the 13th and it was during the summer months. Looking back at the hand-drawn calendar, Oscar realized all too well what that meant: The Hydraclops was due to rise on Friday, June 13th, 2014. And nobody remembered a thing about it.

Which meant it was up to him to stop it.

Yawning, Oscar sat at the closest library desk and started outlining a plan. _If I ever become a scientist,_ he resolved, _I need to invent a Coffeenator or something to keep me awake._ Nevertheless the pieces had somehow clicked into place in his sleep-deprived five-year-old brain, and he knew exactly what to do. _All I need now to save the world are three boxes, three pieces of paper, crayons, and a sock._ After a moment he added mentally, _And a Shmumbercrunch and my trusty Norman._ He checked his watch, and the time read 3:29. _Good, plenty of time._

By 6:31, in the frigid wee hours before dawn, a dirt-covered Oscar dropped his shovel. "It is done!" he declared to himself. All three maps were made, all three chests were buried, and the secret weapon was prepared. Satisfied, he hopped on his bicycle and rode home to drop off Norman, where he promptly fell asleep and didn't wake up for twenty-six hours.

Luckily, when Opal came to work later that morning, she found the note left for her by Oscar in the Gift Shop and promptly took it to Ms. O, who read through it and smiled. "Looks like we've found our Lab Director," she said.

* * *

The next six months were a busy time for both Opal and Oscar. The former had to study for her last round of finals for Medical School, _and_ draw and color a fifty-page dissertation, all while balancing work as a nurse and closing down the Gift Shop in her spare time. The latter had to recruit a whole new team of scientists from both the Academy and the overstaffed departments at HQ, _and_ remodel the old Gift Shop back into a proper laboratory again (and add his own flairs of interior designs, inspired by Bill Nye), all while juggling visits to the other squads for advice and help from other Lab Directors.

But finally, August 4th rolled around, and the two agents once again found themselves anxiously waiting in Ms. O's office. This time, instead of badges, they received partnership contracts to sign and new uniform capsules for Investigation, and were immediately assigned a case to solve. "Something about a talking dog and alphabet soup," was all Ms. O would tell them before she gave her trademark dismissal: "Well, what are you waiting for? _GO!_ "

As the new partners dashed downstairs, Opal was the one to bring up the elephant in the room. "So how exactly are we supposed to solve a case?"

Oscar shrugged. "Somehow, heh!" he replied cheerily. For what did it matter? They were already over halfway to their dream careers.


	16. The Doer

**A/N Part of me isn't happy with how my chapters are turning out lately. I mean, at the pace I've been writing, plus all the busyness going on, I feel like a lot of what I'm writing is choppy and incomplete and not quite up to par with what I'm envisioning in my head. Idk, but guys, feel free to lodge a complaint in the reviews or PMs if there's something you want me to fix on this story. That doesn't _at all_ mean hate stuff, but I really do appreciate constructive criticism. :)**

 **Enough of that, though. Enjoy!**

The Doer

"Thank you for coming, Odd S—uh, Odd…d'ah…ah…ah-CHOO!"

"Gesundheit!" Agent Oscar and Agent Opal immediately told her.

The old bespectacled woman sitting at the elementary school teacher's desk in front of them sniffled and reached for a hankie. "Yes, thank you. So sorry, I—uh, I can't—oh dear, I—ah—ah-CHOO!"

Oscar started to say gesundheit again, but Opal flicked her wrist to stop him. "Can you tell us what your odd problem is?"

"Yes, one moment." The woman loudly blew her nose and tossed the used tissue behind her into a disturbingly large pile on the floor, then after a moment's thought, proceeded to plug her nose. "I have this odd allergy, you see," she continued in a nasally voice, "and I can't find a doctor to give me any medication to help with it."

Not for the first time, Opal wished her doctorate was completed already. Barely a month into the Specialized Odd-ology portion of her studies, she hadn't yet covered the topic of allergies. _This is clearly a problem for a real doctor,_ she mused, _not an agent-slash-doctor-in-training. What is an agent even supposed to do in this situation?_

It was Oscar who quite obliviously answered her question. "Well, um, d-do you know what y-you're allergic to?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm allergic to kids."

The two agents gaped. " _Kids?_ " they echoed.

"L-like us kids?" Oscar asked, flabbergasted.

"And like your students?" Opal added.

"Yes, like you kids!" the woman moaned. Taking her hand from her nose, she gestured at her second-graders, who were sitting abnormally quietly in their desks watching the whole ordeal in awe. "And yes, it makes it very hard when I have students to tea—ah-CHOO!—teach."

Oscar frowned. "Th-then why'd you choose to be a teacher?"

"Never mind that!" the woman snapped, her face scrunching up with the effort of holding back another sneeze. "Ju…juh…ah-CHOO! Just get me—ah-ah-CHOO!—cured!"

Opal and Oscar exchanged glances. "What do we do, Opal?" Oscar whispered out of the side of his mouth. "Do you know how to cure this yet?"

"I'm an agent, not a doctor!" Opal hissed back.

"Soooooo is that a no?"

Opal rolled her eyes. "Let's just take her back to HQ and let the other nurses deal with her!" She turned to the teacher. "Ma'am, we'll need you to come with us. The equipment and the agents to help with your allergy are back at Odd Squad Headquarters."

Oscar scratched his head. "D-does that mean we're s-s'posed to take her back in the, uh, tubes? Are adults e-even allowed in the tubes?"

"How should I know? I'm a doctor-in-training, not an agent!" With a shrug and a sigh, Opal ignored Oscar's confused look and stepped forward to take the teacher by the arm, bidding her to stand up. "Here, this next part may be a little unnerving for you, so just stay calm and do what we say, okay?"

The woman nodded and opened her mouth, but all that came out was, "Ah-CHOO!"

"Come on, Oscar!" Opal beckoned for her partner, and he hurried over to take the teacher's other arm. Leading the sneezing woman over to the pencil sharpener on the wall, they pushed her through the tube entrance with a loud and lingering "Ah- _CHOOOOOOOOOoooooooo…_ "

As Oscar jumped in after her, Opal turned to the second-graders (who she realized were about her age) with the most serious face she could muster. "Class dismissed for the afternoon!" Amidst loud cheering and applause, she too hopped into the tubes.

In the end, the teacher had to wait nearly two hours in a gigantic building full of kids before any of the nurses were available to help her, and another hour for the preparation of the EpiPen because her constant sneezes kept ruining the nurses' concentration (not to mention the fact that none of the nurses knew how to prepare one without a doctor). Opal and Oscar were indeed reprimanded for bringing a grownup through the tubes, but there was little Ms. O could do since they weren't real agents and hadn't learned that. On the plus side, as a result of the fiasco, Opal was consequently allowed more time off from work to pursue her studies.

* * *

In all five years of knowing her, Oscar had never seen his partner so stressed out before.

Opal was sitting at her desk, frantically going through a crammed notebook highlighting words here and there, scribbling on flashcards from time to time, only pausing now and then to toss her blonde braid back over her shoulder whenever it fell in her face. She'd been doing this for the better part of the day now, even skipping lunch to continue studying. Oscar knew why, of course: her first set of Odd-ology Finals were at the Big Office tomorrow on August 4th, and she couldn't afford to fail now. Not after eight years of passing all the normal medical exams.

The problem was, Opal was clearly growing frustrated. From time to time she would clench her fists and shake them, slam her head on the desktop, even angrily growl and moan loudly about how impossible it was to remember everything. Combined with the constant fluttering of paper and pencil scratches, it made Oscar exhausted just to watch her. Eventually he couldn't stand it anymore. Setting down the Hoverinator he'd been examining, he got up and went around to her desk. "Opal, d-do you need some help?"

Opal rested her chin in her hands and let out an overwhelmed sigh. "How?" she muttered. "You can't take the test for me, and I don't think you'd want to."

"Th-that's not what I m-meant. I meant, do you n-need some help studying?"

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so." She handed him her pile of flashcards. "Read me the terms and I'll tell you the definitions."

Looking at the cards in his hands, Oscar remembered once watching an agent display calendar pages in midair, and had an idea. "Or we could try this," he said, reaching for the Hoverinator. "Look, watch me be awesome!" Tossing the flashcards in the air, he whipped up the gadget and fired.

And missed completely.

Instead, he hit one of the security agents walking along the balcony above, who then began to shout in alarm as he rose into the air. "Sorry!" Oscar called, quickly changing the settings on the gadget and firing a reversal beam. That settled, he looked down to find the flashcards littered all over the floor and his partner glaring at him. "M-maybe we should do it y-your way, heh," he said in embarrassment, bending down and quickly scooping up the cards. "So, um…l-let's start with Pirate-itis?"

"Easy. Airborne microbes which can only be contracted from the breath of a full-blooded pirate, permanently turns the victim into a pirate themselves. Treatable by soaking feet in brown gravy, reversible only with appropriate gadget. What's next?"

"Good! H-how about Acute Lobster-itis?"

"Disorder where ingestion of a lobster or crab claw diverts those cells to somatotropin or the human growth hormone, interfering with limb growth and causing anywhere from one to all four limbs to become crustacean. Reversible through either appropriate gadget use or hormone extraction and injection. What's next?"

"Okay, um, try _Opuntia Braccaeviridis_ poisoning."

"Contracted through skin contact with the spray from the _O. Braccaeviridis_ cactus. Interferes with somatotropin by increasing production and injecting hormones from multiple species. Reaction speeds up with increase of fear-induced adrenaline. Curable with antidote made from equal parts unicorn tears, loganberry juice, giraffe's milk, and water. What's next?"

"Wow. You're d-doing great, Opal. Now try…" Oscar looked at the next card and couldn't help but grin. "Try the Jinx."

Opal gave him a rare knowing smile. "Type of telepathic influenza affecting the brain and vocal cords. Only appears in group outbreaks, causes victims to talk at the same time as one another and can only be contracted once before immunity is developed. Curable through appropriate gadget use, currently stolen and claimed by villain Jimmy Jinx _which drove us insane when we both contracted the disease!_ "

Oscar chuckled at the memory. "It wasn't _my_ fault Professor O g-gave you the Jinx on purpose so y-you'd be immune to it!"

"Well, it wasn't _my_ fault Professor O wanted me to also give it to you on purpose so the effects could accurately be tested! And it _certainly_ wasn't my fault Ms. O insisted we track down Jimmy Jinx ourselves, even when we were infected!"

Both agents lost it and burst out laughing. After months had gone by, the experience was now funny to look back on. They had been in such a terrible state that day, trying to interrogate other villains and communicate with each other while talking at the same time, that the Shapeshifter of all people took pity on them and found Jimmy and his cube herself. Never had it been more obvious that both Opal and Oscar were misfits in the Investigation Department.

Eventually they calmed down, and Oscar read through the rest of the stack of words for Opal to define. "Well, I-I don't see what had you s-so worried! You got everything r-right!"

"Thanks, Oscar," she said, taking back the flashcards. "I guess you're right. I shouldn't be so nervous."

"No, of c-course you should be! It shows you c-care," Oscar insisted. "Just don't l-let it control you."

Opal gave him a strange look that held something like awe. "Sage advice from a six-year-old," she murmured. Then she abruptly stood up. "I should go take a break from work and get a bite to eat. See you later, partner!" One moment later, over her shoulder: "Oh, and I don't like the new haircut!"

Oscar's hand flew up to his new mohawk defensively. "I g-got the idea from Agent Odie, th-thank you very much!" he yelled back. "He's got a mohawk t-too, you know!" Rolling his eyes, Oscar grabbed his Hoverinator and began tinkering with it again. _Two more years with someone like Opal. Wonder who will drive the other crazy first, the older sister or the little brother?_

* * *

One week later, the news came.

Opal arrived through the tubes to work that morning feeling strangely content and not sure why. But when she got to her desk, she was just in time to see the mail cart rolling away, pushed by whichever invisible maintenance agent was on duty. What it left behind was a large blue diamond-shaped envelope, postmarked from the Big Office in Cittàgazze and resting innocently in front of her computer.

Scarcely daring to breathe, Opal picked it up and slid her finger under the flap.

Slowly and ever-so-carefully she tore it open.

Eased out the papers and the cardboard sheet.

Convinced herself to start reading.

Let out a loud cheer.

And scared poor Oscar to death.

Opal whirled around to find her partner crouched in fright at the base of the stairwell behind her. "Sorry, Oscar! I didn't see you there. But LOOK AT THIS!" Throwing all seriousness to the winds, she dashed over and shoved the papers in his face.

Oscar leaned back a little and adjusted his glasses. "'Dear Agent Opal,'" he read. "'Congratulations! On behalf of Odd Squad, we are delighted to inform you that you have passed all three of your exams with exemplary marks!'" Oscar's jaw dropped and he stared at her. "You took _all three tests_ for your Finals?"

 _He's shocked and yet not stuttering,_ she noted in amusement. _Impressive._ "Yes, I did."

"But…why?"

Opal shrugged. "You remember what happened the day we brought in the woman allergic to kids. The Medical Department needs a doctor. The sooner I can take over, the better."

"Three years in one…" Oscar clicked his tongue. "No wonder you were so nervous! Well, I'm happy for you, you deserve it." He skimmed through the rest of the letter, then flipped it around to look at the other papers.

"That's my diploma," Opal pointed out proudly. "It says I'm certified in Odd-ology and eligible for employment in the Medical Bay. I can put it with my Medicinal diploma from last year. Oh, and those must be my test scores! I _have_ to look at these." Taking the papers back, she eagerly read through the numbers and comments.

Thus occupied, she barely registered hearing Oscar ask her, "S-so when do you start?"

"Oh, immediately of course!" she told him, unable to tear her eyes away from the printout. "At least, as soon as all the paperwork is in order. I suppose I should think about redoing my hairstyle—a normal braid just doesn't seem very doctor-like. And thank goodness I never have to wear a necktie ever again! Never trusted those things. Give me some good scrubs and a blue lab coat any day…"

In all her excitement, Opal never once noticed the sad look on Oscar's face. Nor that his stutter had returned.


	17. The Scribbler

**A/N Couple of stats if y'all are interested. "Olive's Last Partner" is still my most-viewed story at currently 7,204 total views (yippee!), but at the rate at which you guys are reading _this_ fanfic, that may soon change. "Ships" has already surpassed six of my stories with 1,526 total views and an average of about 40-50 views per day, and it is now my second-most reviewed story at 65 reviews (the most is 111 for RASFSIH, a story I never finished and on which most of the reviews were from this psychotic girl who would review each chapter like five times), which is the most of any Odd Squad fanfic on here. It's also my second-longest story so far (the longest being "Where Did We Go Wrong", one of my first fanfics and the embarrassing one I mentioned in an earlier A/N), but that's going to change very soon.**

 **So yeah. Not to brag, but I'm pretty proud of myself. ^_^**

 **Oh, and in answer to aliceine, no they are not actually siblings. It's just to establish their relationship so people won't think I'm shipping them. Remember they met each other for the first time in Geek/Nerd.**

The Scribbler

On the morning of the first day of September 2001, six-year-old Oscar walked into Ms. O's office and sat down heavily in one of the chairs by her desk. "What's the p-problem, Ms. O?"

Ms. O peered at him over the top of her reading glasses. "Um, why would you even say that? I never said there was a problem. I only called you in because I've found someone to be your new partner."

Oscar drew in a sharp breath, his gloomy mood dissipating. This wasn't at all what he'd been expecting. "A n-new partner?"

"Yep. Here's her file." Ms. O opened and held it up so that a photograph of a brunette girl looked back at him. "She's one of four recruits coming later today from the Academy to finish training."

"But why—"

"Because Opal got promoted to Dr. O and she can't solve cases with you anymore, so you need a new partner. Simple as that."

"N-no, I know _that_. Th-that's not what I meant," Oscar said, quickly shaking his head. "I meant, um, well, she's not qu-qualified or anything, is she?"

Ms. O glanced at the file report. "Hmm. Obfusco put no. He just said she's adequate at problem-solving and might be a potential leader in the future, but at the moment she's best suited for Investigation." She squinted and peered closer at one line of text. "That is, unless I mistranslated what 'raven writing desk' means."

"S-so she'll just be a normal agent. Ms. O, won't she n-need a partner for longer than the t-two years I have left until I w-work for the lab?"

But Ms. O merely waved his concerns away. "We can deal with that later. The fact is, she's coming in with four other new agents, two of whom I can partner together and one of whom I would prefer to work by himself. So she needs a partner, and right now you're our only opening. Later on when you finish your remaining two years, we can put her with another new recruit. It'll be fine, see?"

Oscar still wasn't so sure, but there was nothing to say. "Okay, f-fine. If you say so."

"Great. You'll meet her this afternoon, and start working with her next week. Here's her file if you want to look through it. Now GET BACK TO WORK!"

"Yes, Ms. O!" With an awkward little salute, Oscar hopped up, grabbed the file, and dashed out, forcing himself to push any imminent guilt to the side. _The only problem is,_ he thought as he slid down the slide on the stairs, _other than reading, there's not much work to_ _do_ _…_

* * *

At least, there wasn't until he stopped by the newly-renovated lab to return a gadget.

Oscar stepped into the room and breathed a contented sigh. This was where he truly belonged. He could spend hours taking it all in, the green decór and the gadgets and the scientists scurrying to and fro, all of which he himself made possible. It wouldn't be too long before he'd be able to trade in his navy suit and red necktie for a white lab coat and green bowtie.

As he set the gadgets on the work table and started back out, he heard someone call his name. "Hey, aren't you Oscar?"

He turned to find a tall girl with three dark braids, clad in a lab coat and holding a clipboard. "Um, yes?" he answered.

"You hired me and you're taking over as Lab Director, correct?"

"Well, n-not for a few more years, b-but—"

"Then don't you need some practice directing the lab?"

Oscar hesitated. It wasn't like he had anything to do. "Yeah?"

"Perfect." The girl motioned for him to follow her into the back room. "Two of Mr. O's agents captured a dangerous pienado yesterday just outside the Neighborhood of Make-Believe, and they transferred it to us for safekeeping. The Department of Science was put in charge of moving it down to the Odd Squad Warehouse, and since you're gonna be in charge of the Department of Science, it's up to you to invent a secure lock for it."

"Sure, s-sounds good," he agreed with a grin. _Finally, something I know how to do!_

A few minutes later, Oscar found himself with three other scientists dragging the largest safe-deposit box he had ever seen out of the lab. He could feel the stares from other agents who'd stopped work to watch, and he wasn't sure whether to feel proud of doing his dream job or self-conscious of being the only one of the party who wasn't dressed like a scientist. Either way, it wasn't every day Odd Squad Headquarters saw anyone doing such a big and important job like he was doing right now—

 _Thud!_

Without warning something slammed into his back, nearly knocking him over. "Oof!" he grunted, struggling to regain his balance as the pienado ground to a halt. Whirling around, Oscar was annoyed to find a small group of kids in grey recruit shirts gawking at him. "Watch out, recruits!" he snapped. "Pienado, coming thr—"

That was as far as he got before he noticed her.

She was shorter than him by a few inches but seemed a year older, about seven. Her long chestnut hair hung in mussed curls, hastily pinned back on either side with barrettes as if by an afterthought. And her eyes were a stunning shade of gold-flecked brown. Oh, her eyes. Whatever camera had taken the photo for her file hadn't done those beautiful irises justice. They sparkled brightly with hidden hints of intelligence, ambition, and above all determination. Now, though, they had another kind of sparkle: fright.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she cried, hastily backing away from him. A red notebook and pen were clutched in her white-knuckled fingers. "I didn't mean to run into you, I promise!"

Oscar opened his mouth, but no words came. He had none to say. All he could do was ogle at her stupidly.

Then one of the other recruits, a taller brunette boy with ice blue eyes, broke the spell. "A pienado?" he asked, cocking his head. "What's that?"

Thankfully, before Oscar was forced to answer, Obfusco stepped forward. "It's like a tornado," he explained mysteriously, "but with pies."

The sparkle in the girl's eyes changed. "Ooh," she beamed. "I love pie!"

Obfusco clapped his hands. "Walk this way!" he announced, and began to salsa in the direction of the training room. Oscar watched as the bemused recruits followed after him, including the sparkle-eyed girl.

"Ahem?"

He swiveled around to find the three scientists waiting on him. "Oh, uh, right! Onward and yonward and t-tally-ho, heh!"

After getting the pienado down to the warehouse, Oscar rigged up a special secure lock with the help of the other scientists. He remembered Opal once remarking, after he lost the key and forgot the combination to his locker yet again (though he later remembered it to be nine 9s and one 1), that "you should start using your nose as a key, since it's a little hard to lose it," so that's what he decided to do here. But although he should've felt incredibly happy getting to build gadgets again, his mind kept wandering. Back to those sparkling golden-brown eyes.

 _So you're Olive_ , Oscar thought, remembering her name from the file as he tightened the screws on the new lock. _And you're going to be my new partner._

Now he felt guiltier than ever.

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Hold on," Otto interrupted the story, looking very confused. "Olive, you've always told me that _Todd_ was your old partner."

Oscar looked at Olive in surprise. "That's really what you told him?"

"Well…" Olive made a face. "Todd _did_ like to say that for fun, when I worked with him for a little while later on. So it wasn't exactly a lie, per se." She looked up at Oscar apologetically. "I'm sorry. I didn't want him to know the truth back when we hated each other—"

"Ahem."

"Fine, when _I_ hated _you_ ," she corrected with a guilty smile. "But then Todd came back right after we made up, and since I had to tell Otto about him anyway, I thought it would be easier if I just said he was my old partner instead of you."

Oscar nodded. "It's okay. Actually, I'm kind of glad you did that, since I almost gave the secret away to Otto once."

Olive's eyebrows shot up. "You did?"

Otto cocked his head. "Oh yeah, I remember now. It was at my cupcake party, you said I was soooooo much better than her last partner." At the last comment, he struck a proud pose.

Olive rolled her eyes and laughed. "Sorry, Oscar, but I think he's got a point."

"Nah, it's all good," Oscar said with a shrug. "We all know I was a terrible partner anyway."

"Really?" Otto asked, a little dubious.

"That," Olive answered, "is why you should let us finish the story."

Otto huffed. "Okay, go on, then."

* * *

xxx

* * *

Agent Olive.

 _Agent_ Olive.

Agent _Olive._

"Agent…Olive…" she murmured, testing out the new name on her tongue. "Agent Olive. Agent 63. Agent Olive." She smiled and touched her badge. _The Academy recruiters were right. Odd Squad really_ is _a place where I can be someone new. No one ever really liked me or wanted me around as plain old bookworm sports-geek Olivia. Maybe it'll be different as Agent Olive._

Her new uniform on and her tousled hair combed into a somewhat decent half-ponytail, she shoved her recruit T-shirt, sweatpants, and black converse into her new locker and slammed the metal door shut. Yes indeed, it was time to reinvent herself.

Now all she had to do was find her partner.

Todd had told her that her desk was right by the stairs and across from the ball pit. Maybe it would be a good idea to start there. Grabbing a small bag of some personal belongings, she hurried out of the locker room.

Stepping into the main foyer was once again like a dream come true, one that could never grow old. So many sights and sounds to stimulate the senses…and so many _kids._ Olive gulped, suddenly apprehensive. Isolated in the training room for the past week, she hadn't seen anyone other than Agent Obfusco, Ophelia and Oakley, and of course Todd. But the idea of being around so many people she didn't know, anyone of whom could be her partner… _Never mind,_ she told herself, taking a deep breath. Right now she had work to do. There'd be time to worry about everything later.

It didn't take her long to find the pair of desks by the stairs and the ball pit, right where Todd had said they would be. Not seeing anyone else in the area, she moved toward the empty-looking desk and set her bag down on top. After a moment's pause she reached into her bag and pulled out all her Burly Bears magnets and other tokens, and soon had her whole desktop, IBM computer, and filing cabinet fully decorated. Last of all she took out her new red notebook and pen and set them right in the center of the desk, so she'd have them handy for solving cases. That done, Olive was at a bit of a loss for what to do next. _I guess I could wander around and familiarize myself with headquarters a little more_ , she mused, and was about to do just that when something on the adjacent desk caught her eye. Moving around to the other side for a better look, she realized it was her file from the Academy. Puzzled, she picked it up.

"Um, hello there!"

Startled, Olive whirled around and dropped the file. "I'm sorry, I was just looki—! Wait. Aren't you the agent I bumped into last week? The one with the pienado?"

The taller blonde boy nodded quickly. "Y-yeah," he stammered. "I r-remember you t-too."

"You do?" Then Olive got it. "Ohh, I see. You're my partner, aren't you?" A little shyly, she held out her hand. "My name's Olivi—I mean, Olive. What's yours?"

"Um, Oscar. M-my name is Oscar." He took her hand and shook it. "Ms. O t-told me about y-you."

"Oh! Well, nice to meet you, Oscar!" Olive said with a small grin. "And yeah, she told me about you, too. She said you'd had a partner before who was transferred, so I would be taking her place. Although I still don't understand why Todd and I weren't made partners instead. I mean, he's really smart and we were in training together, and so were Ophelia and Oakley and _they_ were partnered…"

Olive trailed off. Her new partner didn't seem to be listening, instead staring at something off to his left. She tried looking in the same direction as him, but all she saw was the lab. "What are you looking at?" she asked, trying to be casual.

"Huwhat? Oh. Nothing, sorry." Oscar jerked his attention back to her, straightening his glasses and necktie. "G-go on?"

"No, that was it, really," Olive said, shaking her head. "I can tell you more about myself later. What about you? Tell me about _your_ self."

"Me? Well…heh, I'm s-six years old, I've been on the squad for f-five years, and…yeah, th-that's about it."

"That's it?"

"Y-yep, heh."

"Oh-kaaay, if you say so." _And I thought I was the nervous one,_ she thought. It almost seemed as if he were hiding something, but she dismissed the idea. "Five years is a long time. So you're kind of a veteran at Odd Squad?"

"Oh, well…" Oscar coughed slightly and squirmed a little, "not really. I mean I'm uh, hehe, not that great."

Olive giggled. "Sure you are. After all, Ms. O said you could answer any questions I had."

"She did?"

"Mm-hmm!"

"Oh."

"Yeah."

An awkward silence followed, but this time Oscar was the one to break it. "Well, I-I-I dunno how well I can answer questions, b-but I'll try my best, heh!"

It was the first time Olive saw him smile. She decided she liked it better when he was happy. "Works for me! And if you want, I have a question right now. Well, more like a request."

"S-sure, what is it?"

"Would you mind getting me a snack from the Break Room? I didn't have anything for breakfast this morning. You know what's good here, you can decide what to get."

"Absolutely!" Delighted at having something to do, Oscar scurried off.

Chuckling, Olive went back around to her own desk to examine its contents. _He's a little quirky,_ she thought to herself, _and he seems kind of distracted. Oh, well. He definitely made me feel less nervous. Seems like he'll turn out to be nice, and hopefully he'll be less shy in the future._

 _Who knows? We might even make a really good team together._


	18. The Tinkerer

**A/N Two points I'm going to address today. The first one I wasn't going to bring up until the end of this story, but you readers are of course smart people and show it in your reviews (which is still awesome!). Many of you noticed that I've been putting Easter eggs to other shows and stories in this fanfic, particularly programs on PBS. Now, when I'm finished writing it, I'm going to hold a Contest to see who can find the most references, and the winner gets to submit a fanfic idea for me to write. But by pointing out all of the different Easter eggs in your reviews, you guys are actually _decreasing_ your chances of winning the contest, assuming you'll choose to participate. So please try not to give away all the references, let other people figure them out for themselves.**

 **The second point concerns the next three chapters. In order to have time to go back and edit, I've already written three chapters ahead for the story. The problem is I had a huge attack of writer's block while writing this chapter and the next two, and the end results...well, they're not exactly perfect. In my opinion they don't quite reflect the direction I'm wanting this story to go, but idk maybe you guys'll see that differently. So just a little something to note if you don't think they're perfect.**

 **Okay now I'll shut up :)**

The Tinkerer

"Thank you for coming, Odd Squad! Sorry I'm not a little more dressed up."

Olive and Oscar hid their cringes. Their client today was an elderly woman wearing nothing but a bathrobe, slippers, and curlers in her grey hair. And, as per the stereotype, her darkened living room was filled with dozens of cats.

"Um, what's the problem, ma'am?" Olive asked, shooing away a calico cat that had taken an interest in her shoelaces.

"Right this way." The old woman motioned for them to follow, then _very slowly_ shuffled into an adjacent room. Trying not to get impatient, the two agents just as slowly followed behind, nudging more than one cat out of their way with their feet.

When they finally made it inside the room, the old woman pointed at a writing desk in the corner. Three Siamese cats were sitting on top and acting very odd indeed.

Oscar blinked, resisting the urge to rub his glasses. "Are they writing calligraphy?"

"No, worse than that," the old woman complained. " _Chinese_ calligraphy!"

"Whoa," Olive murmured. Sure enough, the three cats were dipping their tails into pots of ink and using them to draw Ancient Chinese symbols all over a stack of newspapers. "Do we have a gadget for that?" she asked her partner.

"Depends," Oscar replied. "Ma'am, how would you like us to solve your problem? Do you want the cats to stop writing completely, or just stop writing in Chinese?"

Olive hid a smile. It looked as though Oscar had finally lost his stutter.

"I think I'll take that second option, dear," the old woman said, pulling a stray mischievous patchy kitten out of her bathrobe and handing it to Olive, who immediately passed it on to Oscar. "I just want to read it. And who knows if my cats may ever need to warn me about something important!"

"Very true, heh!" Juggling the kitten in one arm, Oscar reached behind his back with the other and pulled out a gadget. "Olive? Would you mind using the Translatinator?"

"My pleasure!" she said, eagerly taking the gadget from him and pointing it at the three Siamese cats. With the flick of a button the three beams hit their targets, and in the next moment all of the cats' writing was transcribed into English.

"There you go, ma'am!" Olive said, handing the gadget back to Oscar. "No more Chinese calligraphy for you!"

The old woman leaned forward and squinted at it. "I can't see very well without my reading glasses," she said, "but I'll take your word for it. Thank you, Odd Squad! Oh, and you can keep little Nemo there, he could use a home to himself."

"Oh, uh, thanks! Happy to help!" Oscar said with a bewildered glance at the kitten in his arms as he turned to the front door to go. "Have a nice day!"

As they bid their goodbyes and headed outside to the nearest tube entrance, Oscar remarked to Olive, "When you have no idea what to do on the case, let the client tell you what to do, heh!"

Olive opened her mouth, then closed it. She wasn't sure that was quite how the process was supposed to work, but at the moment there was something more pressing that needed to be addressed. "So what exactly are we going to do with Nemo?"

Meanwhile, the old woman had found her reading glasses and was peering at the writing made by her Siamese cats. "There are dogs in your bathrobe sleeves," she read. "Dogs in my sleeves? Well that's ridiculous, why would I—"

No sooner had the words left her mouth then she felt an odd rustling in her robe, and suddenly four long-haired dogs burst out of her sleeves with loud barks and began chasing her frightened cats through the house.

"Oh, heavens!" the old woman cried, peeling a scaredy-cat off her face. " _Odd Squad! ! !_ "

* * *

While still trying to figure out what to do with the kitten after ruling out the Creature Room as a possibility, the two agents heard the infamous call of their leader. "OLIVE! OSCAR! IN MY OFFICE, _NOW!_ "

"We'll figure it out later," Olive said. "Now let's go."

"Okay, I'll bring Nemo!" Oscar replied, scooping up the kitten from his desk just before it could bat a gadget over the edge. He then led the way up the stairs and into Ms. O's office.

"There you two are," Ms. O said, setting down her purple macrame craft. "You just came back from a case, right?" Before either of them could answer, she went on. "Of course you did, which means you shouldn't be busy now. So I'm going to have you show around a new transfer agent from the Chicago squad."

"Oh. Cool," they both answered.

"Who is it?" Oscar asked.

"Well, he's right—" Ms. O stopped, realizing she was pointing at empty air behind her. "Um…he was right there a minute ago—"

"POTATO!"

Olive and Oscar jumped in surprise and turned to find a smiling dark-haired boy standing in between them and waving. "I'm Olaf!" he said happily.

"He, um, doesn't say much," Ms. O admitted. "We haven't yet found anyone who can understand him."

"Potato!" Olaf said again.

"It seems he likes potatoes, heh," Oscar remarked. "We could take him to the Potato Room first."

"Great idea, Agent Oscar," Ms. O agreed.

Olaf seemed to think so, too. "Yay!" he cheered, throwing his arms up in the air.

Olive snapped her fingers as she realized something. "The Potato Room, of course! Oscar, that's next to the Pet Room. We can take Nemo there!"

"Sounds good! Is that okay, Ms. O?" Oscar asked, holding out Nemo. "Our client gave us this kitten for helping her with her odd case."

Ms. O opened her mouth, then closed it again. "That's a new one," she said to herself. "Yeah, sure! Nemo can live there." Years later, that's where her dog Whoops would live, too.

"Thanks, Ms. O!" Oscar said. "Come on, Agent Olaf. We've got a tour to do."

As Olive and Oscar led Olaf down the stairs, Oscar's eyes fell on the lab. "Hold on, Olive. Should we take him to the lab first? I know he's not a recruit, but it's a good foundation for every agent to know where they can pick up gadgets."

Before Olive could answer, Olaf's face turned stormy and he halted in his tracks. "Boooooo!" he said.

Olive pursed her lips. "That's a good idea and it makes sense, but it sounds like he wants to go straight to the Potato Room. Maybe we can show him later. Besides, the sooner we drop off Nemo, the less of your uniform he'll scratch up."

"My _what?_ " Oscar looked down to find the kitten clawing at his jacket. "Hey, stop that!" he said, prying the kitten's claws out of the fabric. Nemo seemed to find this a game, however, and rolled over in Oscar's arm to bat at the outstretched hand.

"Never mind, we can worry about it later," Olive said. "We're keeping Olaf waiting."

Olaf howled his agreement.

Oscar shrugged and put his hand down. "Alright. I think the little guy's done, anyhow."

The little guy wasn't. No sooner had Olaf eagerly disappeared behind the Potato Door than Nemo's claws were once again shredding Oscar's jacket. "Nemo, stop that!" Oscar reprimanded the kitten, this time giving its paws a smack. Nemo didn't like that, and in retaliation the kitten hissed and clawed at Oscar's hand.

"Yeow!" Dropping Nemo, Oscar winced and clutched his bleeding hand.

Olive scooped up the kitten off the floor before it could escape. "Nemo, you bad kitty!" she chided sternly. "Oscar, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," he managed, blowing on the cuts. "Just stings, that's all."

Olive wasn't so sure. "Do you want to go see Dr. O for some band-aids?"

Oscar shook his head. "N-no really, it's fine. Just throw the cat in the room and let's go."

Ignoring Nemo's meows of protest, Olive opened the door to the Pet Room and unceremoniously tossed the kitten in there. "Wasn't going to say it earlier, but I never liked cats," she commented. "Now, let me see your hand."

"I told you, it's fine!" Oscar insisted, but nevertheless he held out his injured hand.

Taking it, Olive inspected the cuts. "They're not bleeding anymore, but we should go to Dr. O anyhow. They might get infected if we don't clean them." She traced one with her finger, and Oscar winced and instinctively withdrew his hand. "Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot they still stung."

"No-no, it's…it's fine. Not your fault." Oscar cleared his throat and blew on his hand again. "You're right, we should go to Dr. O. After all, I'll need both hands to sew if I'm going to patch up my jacket, heh!" And with that, he spun around and hurried off toward the Medical Bay.

Olive trotted after him, feeling a little confused. _Why did he change his mind so suddenly?_ she wondered. _And why was he acting so weird when I was looking at his hand?_

Then she realized the last part of what he'd said. "Wait!" she called. "You can _sew?_ "

* * *

Oscar had been on several cases where he'd made a complete fool of himself, both with Opal and with Olive. But none had been more embarrassing than when he and Olive got called overseas to Animal Junction for an odd case there.

"So what seems to be the problem, sirs?" Oscar asked the two men, trying his best not to stare at the peculiar surroundings of the building.

"You see, we're not quite sure," the dark-haired man in the green shirt said. "Every day my brother Martin and I get letters from our animal helpers from around the world. But for the past week, every time a bird tries to fly in here to deliver a letter—"

"Hold on, Chris," the blond man in the blue shirt named Martin interrupted, looking at his watch. "It's almost time for Sticky Feet to arrive. Let's just wait and show them what happens."

"Good idea," Chris agreed, motioning for the two agents to stand with them in the middle of the room. "Any second now…"

They didn't have long to wait. Within moments Oscar watched as a peregrine falcon appeared and began to fly down through the open roof toward them. But no sooner was the bird inside the building than a long, snakelike striped scarf appeared out of nowhere and coiled around it. With a screech, the falcon tried to escape, but before it could the scarf reared back and launched the bird into the sky and out of sight.

A shocked silence followed. "Looks like someone doesn't want you to get mail, heh," Oscar remarked.

"This is definitely odd," Olive added. "But not to worry, sirs. We have a fix." Olive leaned toward Oscar and muttered, "We've got a gadget for this, right?"

"Oh yeah, sure!" Oscar reassured her. "Lemme just see if I can find it…" Stepping forward in the direction of the entrance, he pulled out several gadgets from behind his back and looked through them. "No, not that one…no…no…no…"

"OSCAR, LOOK OUT!"

Without warning the long scarf reached out and wrapped around his ankles, yanking him to the ground. Oscar shouted in dismay and, dropping all the gadgets, grabbed the scarf and struggled to pull it off. Olive was just about to run and help him when Chris spotted something out the window. "Hey look, it's Zoboomafoo!" he called.

"Who?" she asked.

At that moment a black-and-white lemur hopped through the open window and began bounding toward them. Meanwhile, Oscar, still struggling with the scarf, rolled over onto one of the discarded gadgets and accidentally set it off.

 _Zzzap!_

A rainbow-colored beam shot out and hit the lemur square in the chest, who immediately shrunk and turned into a tiny red jelly baby.

"Zoboo!" the brothers cried out in alarm, running toward it.

Hearing the added commotion, Oscar glanced around to see what had happened, but that was all the scarf needed. Quickly it wrapped itself further up around his legs until it had his arms in its grip, too. Startled, Oscar tried to yank his hands away, but only tightened the scarf's grip and knocked his glasses off in the process. "Olive!" he yelled in a helpless panic, unable to see a thing. "Get this thing off of me!"

And just like that, the scarf froze.

Literally.

Suddenly cold, Oscar felt his glasses slide into place and looked up to see Olive withdrawing her hand and watching him with terror and concern sparkling in her eyes. "I found the Freeze-rayinator," she explained, her voice trembling a little. "Should I get the Shrinkinator next?"

Oscar sat up and looked down. Sure enough, the long striped scarf was now coated in a thick layer of ice, completely immobile, and still tightly bound around him. He began to shiver. "Y-yeah, s-sure," he said, teeth chattering. "Th-that'll b-b-be gr-great, th-th-thanks."

A moment later, Oscar felt the scarf pop off and watched as the entire form shrank to the size of a tennis ball. He quickly got to his feet and brushed himself off while Olive slipped the shrunken frozen scarf into her pocket.

"Um, Odd Squad?"

Both agents turned as the brothers hurried back to them, Martin with the red jelly baby in hand. "You're gonna fix this too, right? He's our friend."

Olive looked at Oscar, who reached down to pick up a gadget off the floor. "Huh. Must've set it off by mistake. Yeah, sure I can—oh, no…"

"What happened?" the other three asked in unison.

Oscar bit his lip. "The Candyinator was on the 'Zap All' setting. That means every single lemur in the world got turned into a jelly baby. And there's no 'Unzap All' setting, which means…"

"We have to go fix them all ourselves?" Olive finished in disbelief.

He nodded sheepishly.

Olive groaned. "Well, let's fix Zoboomafoo first. I wasn't planning on sleeping tonight, anyhow," she said with a resigned half-smile.

"Really?"

"No, Oscar, that was sarcasm."

"Oh."

* * *

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a pair of agents in possession of free time must be in want of a case.

But for whatever reason, Ms. O didn't seem to grasp that today. Which is why Olive found herself relaxing in the break room reading the Bears' stats in her latest copy of _Shmumbers Illustrated,_ while Oscar was sitting across the table from her examining a Jacketinator.

Or at least, she _was_ relaxing. Until…

"GOOSEBERRIES! ! !"

Olive yelped and dropped her magazine.

The voice cackled. "Got you good that time, Scribbles!"

"Afternoon to you too, Agent Todd," Olive said with an eyeroll as he came around to stand at the front of the table. "Aren't you supposed to be out on that case with the giant ladybug?"

Todd waved a hand dismissively. "Already solved it. Easiest thing ever." He leaned forward and peered at them shrewdly. "And what about you two, hmm? Shouldn't _you_ be out solving some quote-unquote 'difficult' case, instead of reading some magazine or building gadgets like only the _scientists_ are allowed to do?"

Oscar grabbed the pieces of the Jacketinator defensively. "I wasn't building one, I was taking it apart!" he insisted. "Any agent is allowed to do that!"

"Besides," Olive chimed in, irked at how disrespectful Todd was being to her partner (who definitely had seniority in length of service), "Ms. O hasn't called us on a case yet today."

"Don't—" Oscar began.

Too late. "There you two are," Ms. O said, popping up from out of nowhere. "Something very odd has—wait, Agent Todd? Are you back already?"

The triumphant grin melted from Todd's face. "Um, yeah. That last problem was easy."

"Well, in that case, I think I'll have you take this one instead. Meet me up inside my office." Winking at Olive and Oscar, Ms. O pivoted on her heel and marched away.

 _So much for your prank, Todd,_ Olive thought wryly.

Todd was clearly annoyed, but he hid his anger well. "Looks like I'll be seeing you around, then. Take care, Scribbles!" he added, tipping an invisible hat at Olive before sauntering off.

Oscar exhaled. "Whew, that was close, heh."

Olive raised an eyebrow. "What, do you not like Todd?"

"No! Well, kind of, but that's not it. I meant Ms. O changing her mind about assigning us that case."

"Oh?" Picking up her magazine and smoothing it out, Olive said, "Do tell."

"Well, um," Oscar scratched his head, "basically, if you say—you know, mention that we haven't had a case today—Ms. O immediately comes and assigns a case."

"Really?" Olive wrinkled her nose in confusion. "How does she hear that?"

Oscar shrugged. "I dunno, she just does. You saw it yourself a minute ago."

" _Touche_." There was a brief silence between the two of them, which for some reason Olive felt the urge to fill with conversation again. "So…why don't you like Todd?"

"Well…" Oscar had gone back to messing around with the Jacketinator, and was now focused on putting it back together. "I just don't," he said, without looking up. "There's something… _off_ about him. Like he's hiding this no-good secret. I-I dunno, I could be totally wrong, but there's something about him that I can't put my finger on. Plus," he paused long enough in his work to look her in the eye, "I don't like how he talks to you."

"You don't what?" Olive had to laugh. Was Oscar actually jealous of Todd? "He doesn't talk to _you_ very nicely, sure, but what has he ever said to me?"

"No, that's not what I mean. It's not _what_ he says, it's _how_ he says it. Like, when he calls you Scribbles, it's like he's saying you're not a very good agent, and at the same time it's like he thinks he owns you or something. As if you're his little sister, not my partner."

"Well, what's wrong with having a big brother?" she retorted, a little put out. "At least he pays attention to me for doing my job, and it's no secret he's the best of the best! And for your information I think the nickname Scribbles is kind of cute, actually. Plus he's nice to me! Nobody else except for you and Ms. O even talks to me." Her face fell. She hadn't meant to say that last part out loud, because now it felt even more true.

Oscar said nothing for a little while. But after a minute or so, he put aside the reassembled Jacketinator and leaned forward over the table. "Hey," he said. "You know why? Because whether Todd's the best or not, other agents know you're good. They know you're smart, and determined, and ambitious. They _admire_ you, so they don't want to mess with you."

 _He doesn't mean that,_ Olive immediately thought. _I'm slow at solving cases and I don't know as much as him or Todd._ But his voice sounded so nice. "You really think so?"

He reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "Hey, I'm not _that_ much of a failure. That's one of the few things I know. That, and your notebook smells like FranScent."

Olive shot him a look. "What are you talking about?"

"Uh…" Oscar's ears turned bright red. "Never mind, I-I-I didn't mean to say that, I—"

"No, not _that!_ What makes you think you're a failure?"

"Oh!" Oscar laughed nervously, visibly relieved. "That part. Well, come on, that case at Animal Junction last summer?"

"Whatever," Olive scoffed. "Everyone makes mistakes, partner."

Oscar looked away. "Not everyone makes the same mistakes sometimes twenty-five times in a row."

 _Oh. He went there. Well, what do I say to that?_ Olive wondered. _It's not like he doesn't have a point—I mean, I_ _have_ _gotten frustrated with him a few times—but he shouldn't beat himself up about it either. Maybe I should change the subject. He likes it when I ask him questions._ "So…you've never told me what your favorite…um…gadget was! I mean, you like using gadgets and you always know which one to use on a case, so you have to have a favorite, right?"

With a little flush in his cheeks, Oscar rewarded her with a smile. "Oh, there's so many gadgets, I don't know if I even have a favorite. I mean, sometimes I love the Parrot Ray or the Candyinator, other times the Plaid-Go-Bye-Bye-Machine-Thing or the Un-Cheesy-Curlinator. Today I think it's the Truth-Snifferinator…"

The Truth-Snifferinator. Olive had seen that gadget used once before, and knew it worked like a lie detector but with objects instead of people. So why did Oscar's mentioning it suddenly give her butterflies? _I mean, sure, he just said some really nice things about me, but he's my partner. That's no reason to be nervous, and I've got nothing to hide from him._

 _Right?_

Poor Olive. She couldn't know what was going through his head at the moment:

 _I make too many mistakes, even my own partner agrees._ Oscar heaved a huge internal sigh. _My three years will be up in a few months. Maybe she'll like me better as a scientist who loves gadgets instead of a partner who messes everything up._

* * *

"Thank you for coming, Odd Squad!"

Olive and Oscar sized up their surroundings. The tubes had popped them out somewhere along the beach of Lake Erie, right next to a picnic table with a large yellow-and-blue-polka-dotted box sitting on top. Standing in front of them was a young girl about their age.

"What seems to be the problem, miss?" Olive asked.

Oscar stood back a little ways and watched. _Time to let her take charge of the case for a change,_ he thought, a little ruefully.

"Well," the girl began, "it's this darn box. My friend Billy told me, 'Nadia, there's a whole party in there with balloons and everything!' Then my friend Isabel told me, 'Nadia, the most adorable kittens are inside!' And my friend Jerome told me, 'Nadia, there's a genie in there, like from _Aladdin!_ ' So now," she sighed dramatically, "I don't know what to think. Which one of those three is really inside the mystery box, or is it something totally different?"

Olive glanced back at Oscar expectantly. Normally this was when he would start asking more questions or looking for a gadget, and he felt a little bad for not doing so today. But he had a promise to keep, so he just shrugged and nodded for her to take over.

"Um…" Giving Oscar a weird look, she turned back to Nadia. "If you really want to know what's inside, why don't you just open the box?"

Nadia made an exasperated noise. "Because it's a mystery box!" she explained. "I can't just go snooping inside there! Besides, what if what's really in there is something I don't like?"

Oscar could almost see the gears in Olive's mind turning, and watched as the lightbulb flickered on. "If it's really a mystery box," she reasoned slowly, "then anything could be inside. Or be _put_ inside."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you don't have to guess what's in there. You can decide for yourself, and make it the mystery for the next person who wonders what's inside. Maybe that's what your friends were all doing."

"Hmm…" Nadia looked up at the box. "It's a big box. You could fit almost anything in there." She looked back at Olive. "But what if there's still something else inside?"

Olive sighed. "Well, if you really want, we have a Scaninator." Pulling a gadget out from behind her back, she showed it to Oscar. "This is it, right?"

Oscar nodded and smiled. "Mm-hmm, that's the one."

Holding it in front of her, Olive clicked it on, and a blue beam shot out and scanned the box. "It says the box is—empty," she said, staring at the reading on the display. "Just a small piece of paper with writing on it. Maybe if you—"

But Nadia was already opening the lid and reaching inside. She pulled out the note and read, "Jump right inside, there's plenty of space." Putting down the note, she looked back up at the mystery box. "Hmm…I wonder…" Then before Olive or Oscar could react, Nadia climbed up onto the picnic table and took a running leap, disappearing inside the box.

The two agents ran up to the table. "Is it just me, or is that box bigger on the inside?" Oscar wondered.

Then without warning, Nadia poked her head out. "Because it's a mystery box!" she answered, giggling. " _I'm_ the mystery now! Thank you, Odd Squad!"

"Um, no problem! Happy to help," Olive said, still a little bemused.

"Have a good day!" Oscar called, and the two of them turned to go, leaving Nadia to her mystery box. "Hey, nice work on the case," he told Olive as they searched for the tube entrance in the sand. "I had no idea what to do, and you figured it out yourself."

"Really," Olive said casually. But deep down she was dubious. Something told her Oscar wasn't telling the whole truth…

* * *

"Who's that in the picture?" Olive asked one morning in the early summer of 2003, pointing to a framed photograph on her partner's desk.

"This?" Oscar picked it up. "Oh, that's me with my cousin Polly. She lives in the Scarborough area. Last year she started a lemonade and hot chocolate stand, and I got to be her first customer. Look." He held it up.

Olive took the photo and examined it. She saw Oscar posing in front of a driveway stand, next to a girl dressed all in pink with honey-blonde pigtails. "You had a mohawk then," she noted, cocking her head at Oscar.

"So I did, hehe," Oscar laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his shaggy hair. "I like to try new things sometimes. Speaking of which, I guess I'm due for a haircut soon." Taking the framed photo again, he set it back in its place on the desk. "It's funny, Polly likes to tease me by graphing the 'success level' of all the different haircuts I've gotten."

"Graphing?" Olive pulled her chair over and sat down next to him. "Does she like to make graphs?"

"Oh boy, _does_ she, haha! Polly'll graph anything if it's important to her or her business, and sometimes she even sells her services. Never to me, of course—I always get them free because I'm family!"

"Really?" Olive thought about that for a moment. "Would selling her services include to Odd Squad? I mean, you and I have had several odd cases where a graphing expert would've been a huge help to us."

Oscar opened his mouth, then stopped. "Y'know, I never actually thought about it," he admitted, a sad look creeping onto his face. "Heh, probably would have been a good idea to think of it sooner, then. Ms. O would've liked to know."

 _Aw, he's so sweet when he's upset._ "Hey, don't be silly!" Olive said, trying to cheer him up. "Not every Odd Squad agent has a cousin who's a graphing expert _and_ sells lemonade and hot cocoa. Ms. O will be happy to hear about Polly at all, better late than never!"

"Yeah…if you say so…" Oscar checked his watch and did a double take. "Oh my, look at the time, heh! Dr. O said she wanted to meet me about, um, something. Be right back!" And with that he suddenly bolted out of his chair and was gone.

Feeling a little wistful, Olive watched him go. That was the third time this week he'd made an excuse and gone off like that. Why was he suddenly so jumpy all the time?

Part of her found it exasperating. She'd already been sent on her first solo case once this week because Oscar was allegedly still stuck in the bathroom. Or the Math Room, one of the two. It was difficult to get all their work done when he wasn't around. After all, no matter what he said, they both knew he was the one with the knowledge and experience, not her.

On the other hand…part of her found it kind of, well… _cute._

Olive giggled to herself. Never mind that she was only about eight years old. Pulling out her FranScented notebook (which she still insisted was to help her think clearly, not just to smell nice), she flipped to the last page and wrote:

 _Oscar. I like him. I really, really like him._

 _And I think he likes me too. :-)_

* * *

In the lab's back room, Oscar sat on the floor with a gadget in his lap and head in hands.

 _Olive. I like her. I really, really like her._

 _If only she liked me too. :-(_


	19. The Pet

**A/N Aliceine, you need to get an account. Like, _now_. There's just so much we have to talk about. :D**

 **But until then, lemme answer your review question on here, since I think other readers might be wondering the same thing. Because "Ships Ahoy" is a prequel and sequel to "Olive's Last Partner", everything that happens in the latter story will either happen or be mentioned in this story. "Ships" is originally meant to explain the backstories that Olive and Oscar provide in chapters 3 and 4 of "OLP", but since I've started writing it it's also become a fanmade AU history of Odd Squad. So yes, they will go through that period where they don't like each other, and no, that's not really a spoiler, so you're good.**

 **Speaking of which, the first signs of that period begin...NOW!**

The Pet

"What do you mean, more time?" Ms. O demanded, slamming down her juice box.

Oscar took a deep breath, trying not to get unnerved by her penetrative stare. He had a case to present for himself. "I don't want to switch over to Lab Director just yet, that's all."

Ms. O narrowed her eyes. "Your three years are nearly up. You've been looking forward to the Department of Science, and they need you over there. Why change your mind now?"

"I'm not changing my mind," Oscar quickly said. "I just want to ease into it a little more, that's all. Like, maybe I can work in the lab here and there when I'm not busy solving cases."

She wasn't fooled. "This is all because of Olive, isn't it? Have you even told her what your plans are?"

He pressed his lips together in a flat line. "No, I haven't. She doesn't know yet. I promise I'll tell her, honest, but that's why I want more time. So she can get used to the idea of me not being around until you find her a new partner. Y-y'know?"

"Are you sure that's the only reason?"

"No," he admitted. "The truth is I like being her partner. She always asks me questions and for help with gadgets." Oscar paused and, summoning all his courage, looked Ms. O in the eye. "Olive's going to be your best agent someday. I just know it. And I wanna help her get there."

Ms. O was silent for a few moments. "Alright, you told me about Polly Graph, so do as you like," she said abruptly. "But I want to see you as the Lab Director before ten years are up."

 _Ten years?_ That was more time than he could ever have hoped for. "Thank you, Ms. O!" he said, grinning from ear to ear. "I-I-I'll get back to work now! I won't let you down!" And before she could tell him so, he dashed out of the office.

"So she can get used to it…" Ms. O repeated to herself. Her gaze fell on the framed Polaroid photo of her and O'Donahue on her desk. It had been taken the night they went to the movie premiere for _The Empire Strikes Back_ , him in Han Solo garb and her dressed like Princess Leia. They'd both signed their names and dated it in the white space below: Oprah and O'Donahue, May 27, 1980. _We were so happy,_ she thought with a sad sigh. _Until it all changed so suddenly four years later. If only_ _we'd_ _had ten years to sort things out._

Ms. O glanced back up in the direction where Oscar had gone. _He would make a good adviser,_ she mused, a little jealous of Olive. _Eager to please, good at problem-solving, and, thanks to his years of job-hopping, a little skilled at everything. Plus I hear he can sew._ She picked up her juice box again. _But I'd better wait to offer him the position until he's talked to Olive. Give her time to adjust, or things could get real messy._

* * *

Things got real messy.

The next day, Oscar indeed got his haircut as promised—into an afro. Olive didn't see it at first until she wandered into the lab that morning to check in her Toothbrushinator for repair. Then she glanced up and dropped the gadget with a gasp.

Oscar started. "Olive! Um, uh, I was j-just fixing my Shrinkinator, c-cuz there were no other scientists available…" He looked around sheepishly, and it was clear that there were in fact several scientists available who could've helped him.

But though Olive saw through his lie, that of course was not why she had gasped. "No, it's not that! It's your…" she pointed at his face.

"My what? Oh! Yeah, my hair!" Oscar grinned and ran a hand through the curly bush. "I finally got it cut the other day. Thought it was time for a change, heh."

"No, I meant your _braces!_ " she finally managed. "You got them off!"

"Oh." Oscar touched a finger to his bare teeth, and the barely audible _plink_ of a piano key could be heard. "Right, the orthodontist put me on a retainer now. I almost forgot after my new haircut, heh! Do you like it, by the way?"

Olive wasn't sure she wanted to answer that, although she knew her face probably said it all. "Do _you_ like it?" she asked instead.

Oscar scoffed. "D'oh, of course, yeah, haha!" he said, whipping out a green triangular mirror and gazing at his reflection with the same huge grin. But within five seconds, the grin faltered and his lip curled a little. He set down the mirror on the table beside him. "Okay, maybe it won't be the most permanent haircut," he conceded.

 _It better not be,_ Olive thought, but she didn't say that out loud. After all, there was now a more pressing issue to be dealt with. "So you were fixing your Shrinkinator," she prompted, pointing at it. "Just how many gadgets have you had to fix yourself this week?"

"Well…" Oscar cleared his throat and fidgeted a little. "A few…?"

Olive rolled her eyes, but something told her to let it go. "Okay, fine. But next time could you leave the actual science to the scientists? We're partners, I still need your help solving cases."

For a moment Oscar looked like he was going to make a comment, but no words came out of his mouth. It was obvious he had something on his mind. Yet though she wanted to know what he was thinking, and frankly felt more than a little betrayed after he lied to her about where he'd been, Olive merely gave him a nod and headed back to their desks.

 _It's probably just a hobby for him_ , she reasoned. _Maybe he likes spending a little time in other departments here and there. Besides, if there was really something wrong with that, he'd have told me._

Ah, Olive. If only you could know how your partner was kicking himself for not doing that very thing. How he believed you were just saying you needed his help in order to make him feel better. For within the year you will come to realize that his spending time in the lab is more than just a hobby.

* * *

She first noticed when she started getting assigned more and more cases that turned out to be solo jobs.

When Mrs. Diller's maple syrup turned into mustard and she couldn't eat her pancakes.

Or when Mr. Bleakman could only say the word "CASSEROLE!" over and over again.

Those two sisters with chattering dust bunnies living under their couch.

A group of British kids whose beach ball and dog Gesso had gone missing.

All four were cases Oscar didn't show up for, or ran off from at the last minute.

Olive did her best to solve them herself, but not everything could be fixed with a gadget. With the dog and the beach ball, it took her the better part of an hour searching before she realized it wasn't even truly an odd case. And with the dust bunnies, she had no idea what to do and ended up calling Todd for help, who smirked and said all she needed was a dust carrot to lure them out.

One day in early 2004, she tried to confront him about it. "Oscar, that's been the fourth case this week you couldn't help me solve," she informed him upon catching him at his desk, inspecting an Unteddybearinator. "What's going on?"

"I know," Oscar sighed, putting the gadget down. "It's just…well…Ms. O wanted me to do some work within headquarters. Y'know, like…inside jobs. Er, cases."

That didn't quite add up. "Then why didn't she let me know?" Olive asked, folding her arms. "Ms. O's never said what you've been doing whenever I've gotten a solo case."

Oscar shrugged and didn't answer. Instead, with some difficulty he met her eyes with his own soft chocolate-brown and blinked. "Y-you're not mad at me, are you?"

"No, no!" Olive quickly said. "I mean, if that's what she wants you doing, then that's fine. I mean…I just wish she would tell me about these things."

Oscar made no reply. Feeling a little awkward, Olive went back to her own desk and started her filing work. Though more confused than before, she didn't bother to bring up the topic again for several months. If Oscar had his reasons, then that was fine with her.

Or at least it should've been. If she didn't still feel a little betrayed by it.

* * *

Later that year, after it became clear this was not just a passing phase, and she still couldn't figure out what was going on, Olive decided to try a different tactic.

"Ms. O?" she called, poking her head in the doorway. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

The boss glanced up from her Play-Doh creation. She had changed her hairstyle recently, from the short-on-one-side-long-on-the-other to an elegant bun with a braid wrapped around it. "This better be good."

"It is." Mustering up her courage, Olive stepped inside and headed for one of the seats in front. "It's about Oscar, my partner. He's been avoiding cases with me here and there for almost a whole year now, and he insists it's because you've been assigning him difficult jobs that take too much time for him to work with me."

"And…?"

Olive took a deep breath and hoped her partial lie would work. "And I don't think he's telling the truth. I think he's just slacking on his job. He'll make the silliest excuses, and half the time I see him tinkering with gadgets in the lab." She went on and related all the notable times Oscar hadn't been with her on the job, trying not to let her frustration show. "So I think he's _trying_ to avoid solving cases with me. Am I right?"

Ms. O studied her, and for a moment Olive was afraid she wouldn't believe the part about thinking he was a slacker. After all, Olive didn't quite believe that herself, but it was the only plausible story she could think of that might prompt Ms. O to tell her what was really going on.

"I appreciate your concern for him, but no, you're not completely right," Ms. O finally answered, shaking her head. "The fact is, I did assign Oscar some cases separate from yours. However, what I _didn't_ do was assign each of your cases at the same time." She stood up. "Where is he now?"

"In the lab," Olive answered with a frown.

"Tell you what, then. You get back to your work, and I'll give him a talking-to and see what's going on. Okay?"

Olive nodded. "Thank you, Ms. O!" _So Oscar was right,_ she thought as she followed her boss out and split off to go back to her desk. _But not completely right. He's still hiding something, but now I know it doesn't have to do with Ms. O. Maybe she can figure out what's going on. Good thing she believed my story._

* * *

 _Good thing Agent Olive believed my story_ , Ms. O thought as she hopped off the stairs and entered the lab. _And anyhow, having him train for a job as Lab Director counts as assigning separate cases, right?_

Whether it did or not, Ms. O still needed to talk to Oscar if his partner clearly didn't know what he was intending to do. After all, it was kind of his fault she'd had to lie.

"OSCAR!"

Bent over at the lab table, Oscar jumped and dropped the gadget he'd been holding, and a ray shot out of it and hit Ms. O's hair. As he gasped in horror, she gingerly reached up to touch it, an unreadable expression on her face. "Let me guess," she said in resignation. "That was a ray that turns hair gel into cream cheese."

Oscar winced and adjusted his glasses. "Maybe?"

Licking her fingers, Ms. O waved a hand. "Never mind! We'll deal with that in a moment. Right now, I need to know why you haven't told your own partner about your plans yet. She just came up to complain to me that you haven't been around for solving cases."

"Yeah…" He cleared his throat. "I will soon, I-I-I promise! I just…well, I thought I'd get her used to the idea first. Y'know, like, give her some practice solving cases without me, heh."

Ms. O raised an eyebrow. "You realize you put me in an awkward position since you haven't told her yet, even though I instructed you to do so. It's not _my_ place to say all that, and I had no choice but to back up the story you told her about me assigning you special cases."

Oscar gulped nervously.

"But," Ms. O continued thoughtfully, pulling her badge phone off to press a button summoning an assistant, "you make a very good point. We don't have any available new recruits coming in yet, so it's not a bad idea to get her used to working alone." She paused as the comb-wielding assistant arrived, handed her a juicebox, and set to work on de-cheesing her hair. "Still, I need you to tell her soon, got that?"

"Yes, Ms. O!" Oscar said, nodding quickly. "And, um, s-sorry about the hair."

"Eh. You've done worse. Did you build that gadget yourself?" she asked, pointing.

"Oh, this?" He held it up. "Uh-huh! Yeah, I did! Finished it yesterday. The first gadget I've ever actually invented."

"Is it? Wow, you're learning fast."

Oscar blushed with pride. "Oh, well…I try, heh," he stammered. "I'm calling it the Hair-Gel-into-Cream-Cheese-inator."

Ms. O had to smile. _His badge would be glowing so much right now, if Odd Squad badges still did that anymore whenever agents are proud of themselves. Shame they took that feature away when the dragons sued us for copyright._ Suddenly she remembered something. "Speaking of which, I have an offer to make. I've noticed you're a good problem solver and a good helper. So after you become Lab Director, I want to know if you'd be interested in also being my personal adviser?"

Oscar almost dropped the gadget. "R-really?"

"Yup."

"Wow…what an honor…" he murmured, scratching his head as he tried to take it all in. Then Ms. O noticed him glance nervously in the direction of Olive's desk. "Um, can I think about it?"

For some reason, the little gesture irked her. But she brushed it off. "Oh! Of course, absolutely. You have until you become Lab Director to decide." Ms. O waited a beat until he sighed with relief, then brought out her familiar conversation ender. "Now GET BACK TO WORK!"

Except. "Um, I'm already at work," Oscar pointed out.

 _Whoops._ "Oh. Well, in that case, _I'LL_ GET BACK TO WORK!" And with that, Ms. O marched out and up the stairs, her assistant scrambling to keep up.

 _So that's done_ , she thought with satisfaction as she sat back in her chair and let her assistant comb the last of the cream cheese out of her hair. And now that she thought about it, she knew exactly why Oscar's furtive glance had annoyed her. He obviously wanted both jobs as Lab Director and adviser, but not explaining the situation to his partner was holding him back. _No matter,_ she reassured herself. _I've talked to Oscar and offered him the job, he'll talk to Olive and straighten things out, Olive will get her questions answered, and I'll gain a new adviser and Lab Director all in one. In short, our chat_ _was very productive_ _._

* * *

But that's not at all what Olive, watching from her desk, had seen. In her eyes, all she saw was Ms. O's scolding turn to compliments.

Deep inside her, the first tiny spark of anger flared to life.


	20. The Tagalong

**A/N Firstly, sorry for the wait! I totally forgot to post this a few days ago, whoops! Secondly, dunno who all has heard the news yet, but rumor has it that the release date for "O is Not For Over" was moved back from March 7 to sometime in May. Now here's the thing—while most fans are outraged and disappointed over hearing this, I'm actually seriously hoping that this is in fact true. See, the current plan is to have my story end with certain events from OINFO, and if I can't finish it before that comes out, my fanfic will be kind of undermined. (If you've read _Fangirl_ by Rainbow Rowell, you know what I'm talking about.) So if it is indeed getting moved back, I've suddenly got a 2-month extension, which I kind of REALLY hope is the case! That, and I just don't want the magic of Season 1 to end yet :')**

 **So that's my thoughts on the matter. Moving on, if any of you out there were wondering just how Todd gets to fit in the framework of my story, well...look no further :)**

The Tagalong

"SCRIBBLES!"

Olive gasped and almost dropped her containment unit. "Todd, please stop that!" she snapped, whirling around and jerking a thumb at the red door behind her. "I have to get this into storage for Ms. O, okay?"

"Really?" Todd folded his arms and leaned against the wall. "Looked to me like you were about to open that thing."

"No, I wasn't!" she retorted, clutching the unit tighter.

Todd raised an eyebrow.

Olive huffed. "Okay, fine. It sounded like there was something in there, so I was just going to take a quick peek."

"But didn't Ms. O tell you not to open it?" At Olive's guilty glance, Todd laughed. "Of course she did." Stepping forward and taking the containment unit, he began to explain. "See, inside this thing is a creature called a Centigurp. If you had taken your quick peek and exposed it to the light, that one little guy would've bounced out and become one hundred little guys!"

"Really?" she asked, eyes wide. "Ms. O would've never forgiven me!"

"Exactly." Smug with himself, Todd handed the unit back to her. "They would've all disappeared and you would've had to find them all. Which means _I_ saved your career _and_ Ms. O's trust in you."

With an acknowledging sigh and a grateful smile, Olive turned back to the door and opened it, poking her head inside. "Um, is this the right room? It's empty," he heard her echoing voice say.

Todd rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's the Storage Room. Just set it on the table and it'll store itself when you leave."

"Are you sure?"

"For odd's sake, Scribbles, yes I'm sure! You should trust me by now, you know. It's 2005, we've been on the squad for four years, and we're almost nine."

"Okay." A moment later, Olive stepped out and shut the door. "Thanks, Todd."

"That's what I'm here for," he smirked with a mock bow. "And now for the real reason I came looking for you. I have an offer to make."

"An offer?" she asked skeptically.

"That's right, an offer. See, a little bird told me that Oscar doesn't always have the time to be your own partner anymore. Am I right?"

Olive's ears turned pink and she looked away. "I dunno," she mumbled. "Maybe, I guess."

Todd smirked again, but mentally he had already taken pity on her. "Well, here's what I was thinking. I don't have a partner, right? So, what if whenever Oscar gets 'busy', you come and solve cases with me instead? That way you're not alone!"

"But we're not real partners," Olive objected.

"So?"

"So, only real partners can solve cases together—"

"But that's just it!" Todd interrupted, getting excited. "We _don't_ have to be real partners. I read it in the Odd Squad Rulebook, all we have to do is get Ms. O's permission. Come on, let's go ask her now!" With that he eagerly grabbed her wrist and began dragging her toward the office.

"Wait!" Olive yanked her arm back. "I still don't think it's a good idea. I mean…what would Oscar think?"

This was making Todd exasperated. Why wasn't she getting it? "Look, Scribbles, do you want to have someone to solve cases with you or not? The fact is Oscar's too busy for you now. I even heard a rumor about Ms. O assigning him a long term case that'll take years to work through. Something about the Great Worm War and Agent Obfusco. Anyway, he won't have time to go out in the field with you anymore—Scribbles, where are you going? Olive! _Wait!_ "

But Olive was gone. The last thing Todd saw before she darted around the corner was the disbelief in her gold-flecked eyes.

Those eyes.

Todd shook his head and sighed, clapping his hands together. "She'll change her mind soon enough," he said breezily to the security camera watching him. "It won't take long before she's feeling lonely again. And when she is, I'll be waiting for her."

* * *

As a matter of fact, it only took ten minutes.

The moment Olive left Todd, she headed straight for Ms. O's office to inform her of the safe delivery of the Centigurp box. What she hadn't counted on, of course, was the troubled reaction Ms. O had.

"And you didn't open the containment unit?" she asked Olive suspiciously. "Be honest."

"No! Well…" Olive winced. "I almost did for a quick peek, but Agent Todd came along and warned me what would happen, so I didn't open it. That _is_ what you told me to do, isn't it?"

Ms. O hesitated. "Yes, I s'pose so," she muttered in what seemed like disappointment. "Good work, Agent Olive. Now GET BACK TO WORK!"

"Yes, Ms. O!" Immediately she dashed back out of the office and started down the steps—where she promptly collided with none other than…

"Oscar?"

"Olive!" Flustered, Oscar dropped down and scrambled to pick up the contents of his box, now scattered over the steps after their run-in. "So sorry about that, I didn't see you there—"

"Where've you been all week?" Olive interrupted, unable to get the words out fast enough. "I've hardly seen you at all! There've been so many cases, did Ms. O really assign you a solo long term one? That's what Todd told me just now—"

"Whoa, slow down!" Dumping the gizmos back into their boxes, he grabbed it and hopped up. "Um, yes, yes, and yes, now gotta run!"

But Olive wasn't finished. Before he could go up any farther, she stepped in front of him and put her hands on her hips, blocking his path. "Run where? What are you doing now?"

Oscar glanced down at the items in his box. "Oh! Well, I'm making a delivery. Before I get shipped out for the Great Worm War, Ms. O wants to know about this new idea of combining gadgets that I inv—" Suddenly he stopped with a little gasp. "Uh, never mind."

"That you what?" Olive persisted.

"OOOOOSCAAAAAARRR!"

"Sorry, Olive, gotta go. Can't keep Ms. O waiting, heh!" And before she could react, Oscar had nudged past her and hurried on up the stairs.

Olive stared after him in shock, and more than a little upset. _Since when does Oscar blow me off for Ms. O like that?_ she wondered, hurt. _And why hasn't he fixed that ridiculous haircut of his yet?_

Below her on the main level, Agent Obfusco was bringing in a new group of recruits and loudly arguing with one of them—a short, sassy little girl who kept yelling the words "Sherman" and "independent". Off to the side, she noticed Agent Todd watching the proceedings in amusement.

 _And why does Todd always have to be right?_

* * *

A month or so later, Olive found herself facing one of the most dangerous villains known to Odd Squad. Alone, because Oscar had once again been too busy. Or so she thought.

"Stop…right there!" she shouted falteringly, trying to hide her nervousness. But it was no use. The Shapeshifter clearly wasn't fooled in the least.

"Ha! You'll never catch me, Odd Squad," the woman sneered at Olive. "I can shapeshift into anything!"

"Anything, huh?"

Olive gasped. Just a moment ago no one else had been with her. But suddenly there was Agent Todd, striding towards them with a confident look on his face. "How about a horse?" he asked with an innocent smile.

"Easy," the Shapeshifter replied, striking her pose. "I'm a horse, I'm a horse!" And with that, there was a flash and she turned into a sleek Arabian.

"Todd, what are you doing?" Olive called out, utterly flabbergasted. She couldn't decide what surprised her more, his showing up on her case, or his goading a villain.

But Todd merely winked at her, and as the Shapeshifter reverted back to her own form, he went on, "How about a butterfly?"

The Shapeshifter scoffed. "Even easier!" Throwing her arms up in the air, she announced, "I'm a butterfly, I'm a butterfly!" and immediately became a giant but gorgeous Monarch.

"Ooh, impressive!" Todd said sarcastically as she reverted back again. Finally, with eyebrows raised to show he had something planned, he asked, "How about a bone?"

Shooting him a disgusted look for his insolence, the Shapeshifter struck her pose and, with a flash, was replaced by a rawhide bone. "Does this answer your question?" her disembodied bored voice asked.

Todd folded his arms triumphantly. "Agent Otis will take it from here."

Right on cue, the Odd Squad border collie trotted out and, to Olive's amazement, scooped up the bone in its jaws. Oblivious to the villainess's cries of protest and surrender, the dog handed the bone to Todd, who took it and beamed at Olive.

"Who…what…how…?" was all Olive could manage.

"I told you, Scribbles," Todd said with a shrug. "You can always ask me to come help."

* * *

"Solved it!"

Ms. O gaped. "Wait. Really?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Todd caught a movement behind the glass doors. He smirked to himself. _Time to start showing off._ "Yes, really. I'm surprised you didn't see the pattern, Oprah."

Big mistake. "It's Ms. O to you, young man!" she snapped, sparks flying from her eyes.

Todd hid a wince. Yep, he'd hit a nerve. But it wasn't his career he was worried about—she wouldn't fire her best agent for a slip of the tongue, after all—rather the impression his hidden audience behind him was getting. So he nonchalantly shrugged off the rebuke, instead reaching for the remote control lying on top of Ms. O's desk. "You don't mind, do you?" he asked, giving his best winning smile.

Ms. O didn't say anything, just scowled at him, which Todd took as a 'go ahead' sign. Grinning, he picked up the remote and pointed it at her newest bit of technology, a high-tech projector screen. "Lemme break it down for you," he began before launching into a dramatic explanation about street addresses and number lines. _Good old big sister_ _Onya_ _for making me memorize the phonebook at the Academy_ , he thought with pride. "Which means," he concluded, adopting a sports announcer persona especially for the benefit of the audience member in hiding, "the next place they're gonna hit iiiiiiiiisss… 8, Eighth Street! Jetta Handover's house, I believe?"

With a final press of the remote, the house in question popped up on the screen. Ms. O eyed the screen dubiously, but nodded. "Alright, then. If that's what you think it is, I'll call Mrs. Handover to let her and her daughter know you're coming. Now GO STOP THAT VILLAIN!"

Todd gave her a salute before wheeling around. "Yes'm, _Ms. O!_ " he called over his shoulder, emphasizing her title. Sure enough it won him a growl, but by then he was already out of the office. Just in time to catch sight of a brunette half-ponytail disappearing behind the door of the nearby interrogation room.

 _As if she thinks I didn't see her,_ Todd thought with a chuckle. Pretending to be oblivious, he sauntered down the steps and towards the Tube Lobby, whistling "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" for added effect. Yet even through his loud whistle, he took special care to listen for those sneaky footsteps following after him.

"O'Callaghan!" he barked upon reaching the tubes. "Send me to 8, Eighth Street, East York. Oh, and make sure it's the shoe closet entrance," he added.

"The shoe closet entrance?" O'Callaghan repeated in bemusement. "Are you sure? We stopped using those when I joined back in '88 for a reason you know."

Todd rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure! Official Odd Squad business!"

O'Callaghan shrugged. "Alright, if you say so. Squishinating!" And with the press of a button, the red ball compressed Todd and sent him hurtling through the tubes and into a dark, tiny shoe closet. Immediately he pulled out his watch and looked at it. _I'll give her thirty-four seconds,_ he thought as he perched himself between hanging coats on the pile of shoes. _One, two, three…_

Sure enough, thirty-one seconds later, there was a blue flash of light and none other than Agent Olive shot out and slammed into Todd's back. Shoes went flying, coats fell on top of them, and the door of the tiny closet burst open—much to the dismay of the woman and her stately blue dog who lived in the house, now standing over them and ogling.

"Oof, right on time!" Todd said cheerily, managing to roll out from underneath a leather sports jacket and an extremely embarrassed Olive. Smoothly he hopped up and helped her to her feet. "Now, Mrs. Handover, I believe my partner and I are rendezvousing with a certain villain here at your house at 8, Eighth Street here in a few, am I right?"

"Um…yeah, sure!" the woman said, a little uncertainly. "Right this way!"

As she and her dog led them to the front door to wait for him, Olive hissed, "Todd, what are you doing? We've been over this, I'm not your partner!"

" _Au contraire,_ " he whispered back with a wink. "How else do you explain your following me around all morning and now ending up here solving my case with me?"

Olive rolled her eyes and looked away, but the red in her cheeks didn't escape Todd's notice. He smiled to himself with satisfaction. _At last. While Oscar's off busy with everything else but his actual job, I will be the partner my Scribbles needs._

 _And maybe, just maybe, I'll be much more than that._

* * *

And that's how things went for the next six years. Todd would accompany Olive on any of her solo cases, and Olive would find herself tagging along on several, but not all, of Todd's cases. Most of the time it was Todd who solved the case on either end, and he would tease Olive for scribbling down so many notes in her notebook.

Sometimes he teased her so harshly it was insulting. Like the time she remarked to Todd on their way to lunch how, maybe one day, she might be good enough to run her own Odd Squad. Before she even finished, he burst out laughing. " _You_ running an Odd Squad? Oh, puh- _lease_. You can't even solve a case in your head fast enough! Scribbling stuff in a notebook and staring at it forever isn't gonna get you anywhere near a Management position."

Olive bit her lip, feeling kind of hurt and stupid. "Oscar wouldn't have thought so," she said quietly.

"Ah, but Oscar's not around to be your partner, is he?" Todd pointed out smugly. "But _I_ am, so it's my opinion that matters." He gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Now, how does Debbie's Pizza sound? My treat today."

Needless to say, Olive was more than a little perplexed by the way Todd treated her. Once, she wrote all this down in her journal. _He keeps calling me slow and saying I'll never be able to solve cases on my own. Then suddenly he's smiling and telling me to let him know whenever I need help. It makes no sense and I never know if he's being nice or mean. Sometimes I wish there was a different smart agent I could follow around instead._

She glanced up at the empty desk across from her and sighed. _Or that Oscar would come back like he's supposed to, instead of disappearing more and more._

It wasn't until the day Todd finally won the award for the most awards that a few things began falling into place. That evening after work, he took Olive aside in the Tube Lobby and asked her to go get ice cream with him to celebrate. She agreed, but at the ice cream parlor she kept getting the strangest ominous vibes. Several times she caught him gazing her direction, only for his ice-blue eyes to flit away and focus on something else. Other times he would start to say something, then stop and change the subject to something about the weather, like the salsa front forecasted for that night. At one point she had a dribble of chocolate syrup on her chin, but instead of telling her about it, Todd just reached across the table and wiped it off, then licked it off his finger. Sure, she thanked him for it, but Olive couldn't help finding the whole thing rather weird and uncomfortable.

But she didn't put two and two together until the day she brought a special cheese and pickle sandwich from the Ukelele Café to work for her lunch, and it disappeared seven times.

"Looking for something?" a voice behind her taunted.

Olive whirled around to find Todd sauntering towards her, holding her sandwich and cackling. Annoyed, she marched forward and snatched it out of his hand. "How did you—"

"Sandwichinator." Smirking, he held up an unfamiliar gadget with a little sandwich model at the top.

She narrowed her eyes. "There's no such thing."

Todd shrugged. "You're right. Until I invented it." He grinned and raised an eyebrow. "Why should _Oscar_ get to have all the fun, hmm? Why not other Investigation agents?"

Olive flinched. He'd hit a nerve and he knew it. Worse, she didn't know which angered her more—the fact that he was _right,_ or the fact that _he_ was right. Instinctively she glanced at the lab. Why, oh why did Oscar have to get dispatched to the front lines of the Great Worm War?

"Ooh, look what else I made!" Todd went on eagerly, pulling out another gadget from behind his back. "Whaddya think, huh?"

"Um…" Olive peered at it and furrowed her brow. It looked familiar, yet at the same time very different from anything she'd ever seen before.

"See, I took apart a Stretchinator and a Colorinator, uh, adjusted some stuff, aaaaaand…" Holding it up to his face, he pressed a button and with a _poof_ , Todd suddenly had a blue Pinocchio nose. "…I can make any nose I want!" Pressing it again, he suddenly had a green pig snout. "In any color!" he squealed, snorting a little.

Olive was speechless.

Noticing, Todd's excitement faltered a little. "You do like it, right? I mean, it's not like Oscar's gonna show you anything like this, is he?"

 _Oh…_ Suddenly the last puzzle piece fell into place.

"I…yeah! Sure, it's neat!" she quickly said, trying not to betray anything. "The only thing is…aren't gadgets supposed to _fix_ odd stuff, not make things more odd?"

"They—" he stopped. "Well, yeah, but—what's the point of being on Odd Squad if you can't be childish sometimes?" When Olive had no answer to that, he flashed a triumphant grin at her. "See? Cases are too easy for me now, so I wanted to try something new, that's all. And I'm not hurting anyone, so we're good! Now if you'll excuse me," he finished, sniffing the air, "mm, I feel like bacon!"

With that he strode off toward the break room. Olive watched him go, her mind in a turmoil. Remembering how Todd once mentioned he was Jewish, for a moment she considered running after him to remind him he wasn't supposed to eat bacon. But something held her back, telling her he wouldn't take kindly to being told what to do at the moment. Besides, there was the rest of what he'd said to consider. Bringing up Oscar _and_ showing off his prowess to her in a single encounter could only mean one thing.

 _I think Todd actually LIKES me._

Olive shook her head and flopped down into her chair with a huff of disgust. _If that's the case,_ she wrote in her journal, _then he needs to know that bragging, making fun of me, and making Oscar look bad is not the way to do it. Six years of enduring that is too long._

Thus began Olive's transformation into a true veteran agent.


	21. The Traitor

**A/N So last week, this week, and next week are all super busy for me, so I'm going to cut back to one update per week as opposed to per every 4 days or so. You guys have been so patient, I really appreciate it!**

 **In other news, just found out that Season 2 finished filming this weekend. Not helping my chronic depression... jk but it still makes me a little sad. Eh well, I've got bigger fish to fry (like this one!) before I worry about new episodes. Enjoy the chapter, it's a doozy and it took forever to edit! :D**

The Traitor

As fate would have it, she got the opportunity to tell him so on November 26, 2011.

It was evening, and Olive and Oscar—the latter having just returned only that afternoon from the front lines of the Great Worm War, he was actually at his desk for once!—were packing up to head home for the evening. No sooner had he arrived than Oscar had launched into six years' worth of tales about negotiations with, spying on, and even _eating_ the battling worms, topping it off with assurances that he'd missed her and was glad to be back at Odd Squad once again. Though she didn't show it, for the first time in a long time, Olive felt something close to totally content. Finally she had an explanation for why he'd been spending all his time in the lab (or so she thought). Now, her partner was back to stay, and with the war over, maybe Ms. O wouldn't need him so much in the lab anymore—

"ScribblesIneedtotalktoyoualone!"

Olive tensed.

There could only be one possible explanation for Todd's sudden appearance and frantic outburst on the very day of Oscar's return. She could guess what was coming and she didn't exactly want to hear it. "Um, can it wait until tomorrow? I kind of have to get home now—"

"No no, it can't wait!" he hurriedly cut her off. "I gotta tell you now."

"But can't Oscar at least stay—"

" _No!_ "

Olive bit her lip and looked pleadingly at Oscar, but he was withering under Todd's angry glare. "I-I think it'd be best if I…just…go…" he stammered, and with an apologetic glance, he grabbed his things and rushed out, leaving her alone with her dread.

As the lights dimmed down for the night, Todd smiled and sat on the corner of Olive's desk in front of where she apprehensively stood. _Now I've got her where I want her,_ he thought smugly. _There's no way she can say no._ "Scribbles," he began, "there's something I've been wanting to tell you for a very long time, and I believe the hour has now come." Reaching behind his back, he pulled out an Oreo creme pie and held it out to her. "Here. For you. It's your favorite."

Olive blinked. "Okay…?" she said, clearly trying not to eye the mouthwatering dessert.

 _Come on, Todd, don't beat around the bush._ "You see…well, I know we're only about eleven, but…" He took a deep breath. "Scri—Olive, from the moment I met you at the Academy, I singled you out from the other gi—"

"No."

He paused, unsure he'd heard right. "I'm sorry?" he said, a confused laugh escaping his lips.

"I know what you're going to say and the answer is no." Discreetly she nudged the pie back towards him. "Look, I really appreciate you helping me with all my cases and letting me come along on yours, what with Oscar gone and all. I really do, I've learned a lot. But…it's just that…you're my friend. That's all. I-Is that okay?"

Todd's lip quivered a little. This was unexpected. " _Just_ your friend? But why?"

She crossed her arms. _Come on, Olive, don't back down. This has gone on long enough. Show him who's boss for once._ "Well, you haven't exactly shown your interest in the nicest way. Insulting me and showing off on every case isn't going to get me to like you, you know."

 _Insulting…? Showing off…?_ The words echoed through Todd's mind and he shook his head. This didn't compute. Hadn't he only been trying to demonstrate to her how worthy he was? _Never mind. Time to remind her and her stupid Bears who's boss._ "Pssh, oh puh-lease," he scoffed, pushing the pie back at her. "Would you rather I stop helping you on cases altogether like _someone_ we both know?"

His contempt was scaring her. But Olive was ready for that one. "First of all, you haven't actually _helped_ me on a case ever," she pointed out cooly, daintily moving the pie aside with a finger. "Helping doesn't mean solving the case all by yourself while I'm stuck watching and scribbling notes. That's why I can't solve cases as good as you can, because you never let me learn! Second of all, if you want to show how you like me, building yourself up and pushing me down isn't the way to do it. Now Oscar, on the other hand—"

That did it. Deep inside Todd, the last straw of decency he had snapped forever.

"ODD-DAMNIT SCRIBBLES WHY DON'T YOU GET IT?!" he exploded, thrusting the pie back into her arms. "OSCAR DOESN'T CARE ABOUT YOU! HE _AVOIDS_ YOU! HE'S NEVER THERE FOR YOU! DON'T YOU SEE?!"

"No, that's NOT what I see!" she shouted back, desperate and frightened. "What I've seen is someone who's encouraged me and shown me how to solve a case for myself! What I've seen is someone who'd get upset whenever you bullied me! What I _see_ is someone who's kind, sweet, funny, and caring! And what I _SEE_ is someone you will never, EVER BE!" And with that, she took the Oreo creme pie in both hands and shoved it at Todd's face with all her might.

 _Splat!_

 _THUD!_

Todd fell heavily to the floor and hit his head, hard. The darkened room spun in a bitter swirl of whipped cream and cold rejection.

 _She said no._

 _She chose Oscar._

 _She still can't understand._

 _Why won't she understand?_

… … …

* * *

And in that moment, Agent Todd realized something.

Odd Squad had begun to bore him a long, long time ago.

There was only one reason he had stayed on so long. And now she was gone too.

Nothing was left for him here. Not anymore.

* * *

… … …

 _Well._

 _If that's how she wants to play._

Shaking, Todd slowly pulled himself up to his feet. "So be it," he ground out, voice quivering with rage as globs of pie filling and Oreo crumbs dripped down his face and uniform. "I gave you your chance, Olive. Now just you wait. I'll make sure the whole squad knows what you did to me." He backed away and the doors slid open. "I'll do something they'll NEVER forget! _YOU'LL SEE!_ "

The doors hissed shut. He was gone.

Olive gasped and stumbled back against the filing cabinet, trying and failing to remember everything she'd just said. Defending her absent partner…driving away the closest she'd had to a friend…

And was it just her, or was his threat hinting at something deeper and more ominous than it seemed?

 _What have I done?_

* * *

Agent Todd came to work the next morning looking chipper as usual, as if nothing at all had happened.

But that very day was when the trouble began.

After spending months devoted to research and testing the effects of training videos on the learning patterns of recruits, poor Ophelia and Oakley had their important meeting with Ms. O interrupted and ruined by him. Oksana complained to anyone who would listen about the mess and stink in the break room from him eating with his feet. The Maintenance and Security agents were mystified at the entire drum set that repeatedly showed up in the shower systems before disappearing without warning, only to reappear weeks later.

Once, Olive even found gooseberries on Oscar's desk in the shape of the number 43.

Todd stopped accompanying her on cases, of course. Rather, she stopped seeing much of him at all, the one exception being a time when she had run into him in the break room tinkering on his badge with a palm tree screwdriver. For her part, she was too nervous to tag along on his cases anymore, anyhow.

Oscar (surprise!) still wasn't around much either. After the night of November 26, when it became clear his hiatus from Investigation still wasn't over, Olive started feeling less and less confused and disappointed about it, and more and more indignant. But on the rare occasion that she _did_ see him, either in the lab or Ms. O's office nowadays, she could never quite work up the nerve to confront him and ask why (what with the Great Worm War over now) he still wasn't working with her anymore. And in all honesty, Olive already had Todd to worry about. She didn't really want to think about the possibility of burning another bridge until the first storm blew over.

And for awhile, it seemed as though it might. About a week before the end of March, all of the odd behaviors Todd had been demonstrating suddenly stopped. He went back to solving cases normally and without a lot of drama or fuss. A few times he even passed Olive in the hallways and flashed her a wink and a smile. Relieved, she didn't even consider the possibility of these actions being non-genuine. She was just glad to see him acting reasonably again.

Until March 31, 2012 rolled around.

Having returned from a tour in Russia, Tiny Dancer announced her homecoming with an epidemic of dancing houses in Scarborough, causing several complaint phonecalls in Ms. O's office. ("I won't stand for having the Banks household in disarray!" went one such call. "This whole thing is worse than that infernal cannon of Admiral Boom's!") Distressed, Ms. O immediately dispatched the Department of Science's forensics team to the most recent crime scene to look for clues, then called both Olive and Todd up to her office.

"I understand you've worked together in the past," she told them, "and I have no other partnered agents available. So I'm going to assign you both to this case, and I expect you to find how and where Tiny Dancer will strike next so you can catch her. Got it?"

Olive shot an apprehensive glance at Todd, but his expression was placid and he showed no signs of being angry or uncooperative. Pushing her doubts aside, she agreed to the case. _Still, if only Oscar could be here instead._

But as it happened, once she and Todd popped out of the tubes at 4, Fourth Street, the first agent she spotted investigating the scene with the scientists had a bushy blond afro.

Next to her, she felt Todd bristle. But with her heart soaring, Olive wouldn't allow herself to notice. All she could think was Oscar had finally been assigned to the same case with her!

Quickly she took a deep breath to calm her nerves and briskly walked over to where her _real_ partner was kneeling. "What do we got here, Oscar?" she asked in what she hoped was her most professional voice.

Turning around and upward to meet her eyes, Oscar blinked in surprise and rewarded her with a smile. But as he stood up to face her and pocket his banana and magnifying glass, something seemed…different, about him. Like something that wasn't there before.

"Looks like Tiny Dancer's back in town!" he announced, nodding at the wiggling and jiggling house behind the caution tape. "She made this house dance."

Out of the corner of her eye, Olive saw Todd roll his eyes. "Yeah, we know that already. Did she hit anywhere else?"

"Uh, yes…" Reaching behind his back with latex-gloved hands, Oscar pulled out one of those new tablets that Odd Squad had gotten for its agents and checked the display. "She hit at 1, First Street, then at 2, Second Street, and here at 4, Fourth Street."

"So she's headed to 6, Sixth Street next," Todd cut in, grabbing the tablet.

Olive glanced up from her trusty journal book in astonishment, having only just begun to record all the information. Normally she'd take his word for it, but her earlier doubts had resurfaced. "Wait, are you sure?" she asked, eyeing the number 1 she'd just written down.

"Sure I'm sure. Look." Just like he'd done for the past six years, Todd held out the tablet and patiently explained to her. "Two and four are both even numbers. The next even number after four is six. It's Sammy Squirrel all over again, remember?" he concluded, tossing the tablet back to Oscar and starting towards the edge of the caution tape.

 _Of course I remember,_ Olive wanted to retort. However, that number 1 needed to be addressed. "But Tiny Dancer was also at 1, First Street," she countered, trotting after him.

Sure enough, Todd stopped and turned to face her with arms folded expectantly, while Oscar hopped over the caution tape and looked on with a hint of admiration in his eyes. Feeling a surge of encouragement, Olive opened up her journal to show the boys. "The number 1 is odd, not even," she went on. "See, you can tell a number is odd because it can't split into two equal parts—"

"Listen, are you gonna keep scribbling in your notebook, or are we gonna go solve this case already?" Todd interrupted, spitting out the work 'scribble' as if it were disgusting to him. "We're going to 6, Sixth Street." With that, he grabbed her hand and began dragging her along behind him.

Olive's mind was racing. Something was very wrong about this, she just knew it. Furthermore, she knew for sure she was actually right for once, and Todd wasn't. But once again, he couldn't respect her for it. Certain of what Oscar was probably thinking at the moment, Olive craned her neck behind her to shoot him an apologetic look for not believing him about Todd—and that's when she suddenly realized why he looked different. All other thoughts flew out the window as she stared at it in disbelief.

His Investigation uniform was missing its red necktie.

In its place was a green bowtie.

* * *

Todd was wrong, of course.

On purpose.

When they were summoned up to Ms. O's office the next day, Olive had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that only got worse as she sat through Ms. O's fury. What she didn't expect was the sinister tone in Todd's voice as he cheerfully confessed to botching the case on purpose. That said, it was only inevitable Ms. O would try to fire him, moreso that he would agree of his own free will. Ironically it was April Fool's Day, but it was obvious this was no joke.

Still, Olive tried to deny it. Bully though he'd been, Todd was still the closest she'd had to a friend. And with Oscar never around, he was her _only_ friend. She tried to convince Ms. O to change her mind, but as Todd handed the badge to her and cast a menacing look back at Olive, it became clear that arguing would be futile. Only when he had calmly walked out of the office did the full realization of what had just happened hit her. "Oh, no…" Olive murmured, sinking back down into the chair. More and more, she was beginning to regret burning the bridge back in November.

The next fifty-three days had an eerily quiet feel to them. Olive didn't know what to do with herself. There were so many cases that needed solving, but with nothing but a worn journal book as a partner, it was hard for Olive to get anything done without making some huge mistake or another. Places like Pine Hollow and odd objects like the flying yellow hat all blended together in her mind into one overarching thought: _I'll never be as good as Todd or Oscar._

 _Oscar._

Sitting at her lonely desk once more on May 25, 2012, she shook her head angrily. _Stop it, Olive. He's not—_

"Oliveoliveolive!"

— _interested in you…?_

* * *

The way her golden-brown eyes looked at him made Oscar completely forget everything he had just sprinted over here to say.

She cocked her head, and tresses of her adorable half-ponytail fell to the side. "Um, is there something wrong?" she asked, a little warily.

"Oh! Uh, r-r-right, yes!" Oscar stammered. "Er, sorry, no! I mean, yes, there's nothing wrong, heh…" He cleared his throat. "Ahem, um, I just wanted to show you something, y'know. Come on!" Motioning for her to follow, he hopped around and hurried over to the lab.

"And…tada!" he announced a few minutes later, turning to face her hopefully. "Whaddya think? Does it look too big? I'm not entirely sure, I only just tried it on for fun a little bit ago."

Olive opened her mouth, shut it again, then bit her lip and looked away. "It looks perfect," she said, clenching her fists. "It suits you well."

Oscar's brow furrowed. She sure _sounded_ impressed with the lab coat based on her words, but she didn't quite look it. _Maybe if I show her the gadget with it, she'll like it better. Then I'll finally be able to tell her about my new job._ "Oh, and check out what I made for you!" Reaching behind his back, he pulled out the brand-new gadget he'd invented the other day and held it out for her to see. "It's called a Triangulator!"

"You made…?" Olive peered at the gadget, and Oscar watched as a myriad of emotions ran across her face. Though he wouldn't understand what they meant for a long time, he did know why sadness was there. _She always looks so sad now,_ he thought with a pang in his heart, half-correctly guessing it had something to do with Todd's departure. _I mean, I never liked him, but I guess they were good friends. He liked to build gadgets for her, too._

 _Come to think of it…she probably likes him. Really likes him. Not me._

Now Oscar was the one feeling sad. But before he could think too much more about it, she interrupted his thoughts with the trigger question, "What does it do?"

The scientist in him was back. "Easy, it makes triangles! Watch:" Holding it up and aiming for the glass wall of the containment bay, he explained, "You just point it at the spot where you want the triangle, and with the push of a button—"

He pressed it, and out shot a green beam. In the next instant, a green rubber triangle had slapped itself on the glass. "Tada!" he finished proudly, handing it to her.

Olive took the gadget hesitantly. "Thanks, Oscar," she said with a half-smile and a sidelong look. "But, um…what can I do with this, again?"

It was time. The moment he showed her what it was for, Olive would know he was meant to be a scientist, and she would express her gratitude for his staying out of her way while she had room to grow in skill and experience. Oscar felt giddy at the thought. "What can't you do with it?" he began, preparing to segue into his career choice. "It could make—"

But, as we all know too well, he never even got the chance.

Off went the klaxon.

* * *

Math Room's calm voice echoed through headquarters even louder: " _Warning: Code. Three. Point. One. Four. One. Five. Nine. Two. Six. Five…"_

Up in her office, Ms. O went cold. Of course. There was only one person besides herself and Oscar who would know how to trigger Code Π. Too late she realized she'd forgotten to deem Todd a rogue agent before firing him.

Her mind flashed back to 1995, the year before Oscar and Opal had been hired. Only this wouldn't be like Agent Ocean at all.

This was going to be much, much worse.

* * *

Before Olive could fully grasp the first two warning signs, documents from all different departments were flying in her face. Blinking in the foudroyant wind, she and Oscar flailed their arms about trying to bat the papers away. She was just about to ask what was going on when out of nowhere Dr. O appeared, bearing news that would change Olive's life forever.

"The pienado's been released!"

Beside her, Oscar turned to squint at the doctor in disbelief. "Are you sure?" he called over the roar of the wind.

Right on cue, the fourth and final warning sign of the pienado made its spectacular arrival by launching right into their midst and splatting itself on the wall.

All three of them gawked at the splotch of whipped cream where Dr. O's head had been a moment ago, then in unison looked down at the empty pie tin lying on the floor.

They looked up at one another. "I'm fairly certain, yes!" Dr. O pointed out the obvious.

Olive glanced wide-eyed at Oscar, and he mirrored her expression. Her agent instincts kicked in, and without another word the partners broke into a run and followed Dr. O out to the slim shelter of under the staircase for a better look at the situation.

A costly better look, as it turned out. As the tallest of the three and the farthest away from the stairs, Dr. O was a prime target. Olive was just taking in the blinding blue light and the pies zooming every which way when she heard a _whumph_ and a cry directly behind her. Turning, she watched horrified as the doctor staggered back, her face and shoulders covered in whipped cream. "Is there a doctor in the house?" she cried out.

"It's you!" Olive reminded her, pointing.

Dr. O forced her eyes open and gave them a glassy look. "Then good luck," she said in firm resignation. "You'll need it." With that she took a tottering step backward and fell to the floor unconscious.

Olive clapped a hand to her mouth in horror. _That's why she needs a doctor. The pies are contaminated!_ She turned back to watch the pienado cycle out of its giant containment unit, ducking to avoid the blasts. _Which means if any agent tries to get close enough to stop it…_

 _Crumpets._

"This is impossible!" Oscar was shouting. "The only way to open up that door is with my nose!"

Had she heard him right? " _What?!_ " Olive blurted out, giving him a sharp look. _What does he mean, since when and why_ _his_ _nose?_

 _Is that why he couldn't believe it when Dr. O told him the pienado was released?_

Naturally he misinterpreted her, instead explaining why he used a nose-shape lock rather than a key. Olive was about to interrupt and ask him when Oscar inadvertently dropped the bomb. "Er, but I've been with my nose all day, so I-I don't know, I…"

And that's when it dawned on her.

" _…A pienado? What's that…?"_

" _…See, I took apart a Stretchinator and a Colorinator, uh, adjusted some stuff, aaaaaand…I can make any nose I want…!"_

" _…I'll make sure the whole squad knows what you did to me. I'll do something they'll NEVER forget! YOU'LL SEE…!"_

"Todd!" Olive gasped.

* * *

Years later, when Olive would try to remember what had happened next as she told Otto the story, all she would find in the dark recesses of her mind were decaying remnants of blurred images and feelings. She would fill in the gaps as best she could, later with Oscar's help, but what she had were these:

bluenosed Todd materializing from haze

terrified Ms. O jumping between them searching for strength

cackling and begging and cackling

hair blowing in her face struggling to brush out of mouth and eyes

the hurt in eyes of ice wellhidden behind crazed gleam of revenge

two pies

kneeling between two victims screaming her boss's name

And these, crystal clear in her broken memory:

"Forget about us!" Ms. O pleaded, clutching her chest and fighting the effects of the pie. "You have to stop that pienado. Think like you've never thunk before!"

Olive shook her head violently and confessed the horrible truth: "But Oscar and Todd always did all the work! I don't know enough and I can't figure it out in my head like them!"

But Ms. O only grabbed her arm and looked directly into her eye, her fiery spirit still burning brightly as ever. Olive shuddered, feeling as though her very soul was being examined. When her boss did speak, the words stayed with her forever:

"Listen to me, agent! I don't care how long it takes! If you count on your fingers and toes, or use a million pieces of paper, solving the problem is solving the problem! Solve—this—problem—!"

Then a stray lemon meringue pie silenced her.

 _She doesn't care how long it takes…_

 _…solving the problem is solving the problem, no matter how I do it…_

 _…maybe I'm not so useless, after all._

From that day onward, the timid-and-shy-and-scared-am-I Olive who let everybody do the work for her was gone. All that was left was everything Oscar had known her to be: skilled, promising, ambitious, capable, and even worthy.

Slowly she rose to her feet. Jaw clenched with determination, she reached back behind her and yanked out the scrunchie holding her half-ponytail up. As the chestnut curls tumbled out behind her in the wind, she reached back again and grabbed it all, then tied it into a single sophisticated corkscrew ponytail.

Who needs knowledge or natural talent when you're willing to try your best?

 _Time to show them what I'm made of._

"Let's go."

* * *

Back in the lab, Oscar was struggling to sit up. The pie had grazed his side and he'd avoided a direct hit like Ms. O's or Opal's, but the effects were still taking their toll. His eyes and mouth were already dry from all the wind blowing, and now he was fighting to breathe and stay awake, let alone pull himself to his feet.

It was the sight of his partner that stopped him. Oscar watched as, almost in slow-motion, Olive took a running leap from behind the slide, threw herself through the line of fire, shot another triangle at the opening of the giant containment unit, and landed unscathed behind an overturned desk near the lab. He blinked and adjusted his glasses, smiling. _There's the Olive I know_ , he thought with pride. _Even better, she's using the gadget I made for her._

Olive shot three more triangles in quick succession, until only one opening remained. However, Oscar saw with dismay that as a result, the pies were now all concentrated in her direction. Worse, she hadn't noticed yet. "Olive!" he shouted. "You need to get out of there!"

She turned around and started to stand up. "What—?"

 _Splat!_

"OLIVE!"

She stumbled to the floor, a direct-hit pie across her back. _I have to go help her,_ Oscar thought. _I just need to GET UP!_

With considerable effort he shrugged out of his pie-splattered lab coat, and managed to rip off the green bowtie constricting his neck. Agonizingly he crawled forward until he was at her side. "Olive, I'm here!" he grunted, wincing.

Miraculously, she had pulled herself back up to her knees and was still trying to aim the Triangulator, somehow shrugging off the effects of the pie. "One triangle left, Oscar!" she called over her shoulder. "I can't get a clear shot! I need to get closer!"

A memory flashed through his mind of something he'd once told Ms. O. _"Olive's going to be your best agent someday. I just know it. And I wanna help her get there."_

Suddenly he knew what he had to do. "I'll cover you!" he shouted, pulling himself into a crouch.

The look she gave him held worlds. "No!" she cried.

He took her hand and squeezed it. "It's the only way! You know that!" he insisted.

Olive looked at him for a moment longer, then nodded wordlessly. _Okay. I trust you,_ her beautiful sparkling eyes seemed to say.

Before he could think about changing his mind, Oscar slowly stood up and anchored himself in the line of fire. He grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.

Pie.

Pie. Pie.

Pie and more pie.

The pie was everywhere.

Everything faded away until there was only pie.

In his nose, in his eyes, his glasses, his mouth, his hair, skin, lungs, clothes.

He couldn't breathe.

Spots appeared in his whitened vision and his feet gave out from under him.

But as he fell to the floor, one clear thought gave Oscar peace.

 _I finally did something right for her._

* * *

 _Zzzap!_

The last triangle locked into place. There was silence.

Olive gazed numbly at the creamy carnage surrounding her. Somehow, she was the only one left standing, covered in pie like all the rest and feeling lightheaded but still standing.

Dimly she realized some of the contaminated pie filling had gotten in her ears. Slowly, mechanically, she stuck a finger in and cleaned it out. Unbeknownst to her, the damage had already been done. Her hearing would never quite be the same again.

She looked down at Oscar, lying unconscious in front of her. Even underneath all the pie, she knew the lab coat and green bowtie were gone. "Oh, Oscar," she whispered, touched by his brave act of loyalty. Wiping the sickening pie filling away from her mouth, she looked back up at where the pienado had been. "Too bad," she said with a shaky breath, in an answer of defiance for Todd. "I used to like pie."

From that day on, any time Olive saw or heard pie, her mind would paralyze with fear and she would scream, convinced Todd wouldn't be too far behind. It would haunt her for a long time.

The Triangulator fell from her grasp and clattered to the floor.

Her two friends had betrayed her today.

One had forever.

The other had tried to fix it.

Only time would tell how long that would last.

Olive didn't know how long she stood there, but next thing she knew she was kneeling at her partner's side, wiping the cream from his glasses. Unbidden, a tune came to mind.

"Clean up, clean up, everybody, everywhere. Clean up, clean up, everybody do your share…"

 **A/N Oh and Happy Leap Day! How ODD! XD**


	22. The Rival

**A/N Sorry it's been so long since the last update, I've had a CRAZY HECTIC past couple weeks and neither the time nor the mood to write. Plus this chapter and the next one are also ones that I really haven't wanted to write, but for plot/continuity and obligation reasons I got myself no choice. Eh well, this one didn't turn out half-bad. :)**

 **STAAAAAATS TIIIIIIME! Okay, so at 22 chapters and 58,211 words, "Ships Ahoy" has now officially become my longest story ever (not counting a weird _Redwall_ -inspired novel I tried to write when I was 11 and never quite finished/published). It is also my third-most viewed story at 2,846 views (after "Olive's Last Partner" at 7,629 and "Where Did We Go Wrong?" at 3,076) and my second-most reviewed story at 92 reviews (after "RASFSIH" at 111, many of which were actually duplicate reviews from this crazy stalker I eventually had to block). So thank you all for your constant support, it really helps to keep me going on this helluva project!**

The Rival

The next day, agents were still cleaning pie filling out of every nook and cranny in Odd Squad Headquarters when the latest group of new recruits arrived.

Olive didn't know until a week later, of course. She, along with Oscar, Orrzack, and other agents who'd been critically pied were allowed a day off to recuperate. (Poor Owen was given even longer than that, since Todd had hit the Head of Security Apprentice with over a dozen pies before releasing the pienado in order to avoid being caught. Not that his partner minded—Orchid was counting down the days until Owen's two remaining years in Investigation ended and she could work by herself, so she might have the time on her hands to build a Dinosaur Room.) And when Olive did return to work, the three recruits were already in their final week-long training period in the Training Room. Meanwhile, _she_ immediately got wrapped up in an overwhelming scramble to cover up the Pie Scandal by marking confidential any and all information relating to Todd. Especially frustrating to find and get rid of were the 43s that kept popping up like whack-a-moles all over headquarters, almost as if Todd had been a number hog and suddenly reversed. As crazy busy as she was, Olive had no time to hear anything about three new recruits.

And frankly, things might have stayed that way once they _did_ become agents. Psychologically, there was still so much for Olive to sort through from the day of the pienado, she paid little attention to anything going on around her. It certainly didn't help that there was an unexpected visit to Dr. O about her hearing, in which she got a very odd double diagnosis: the pie in her ears had somehow given her the ability to hear and understand French, Vietnamese, and Lemon, but at the price of developing ASPD. This meant her ears were now too sensitive for loud noises, and Dr. O had to prescribe her a rather gross spinach/chocolate/magnesium pill. So with all this going on, Olive _might've_ never noticed three new agents in her midst.

Except it wasn't every day Agent Olaf finally got a partner who understood him.

* * *

 _Oh my god no, I did something wrong. What did I do wrong?_

The recruit boy went rigid in a fearful panic. His two agent tour guides and two fellow recruits were gaping at him, and there was no way that could be a good sign. _It's gotta be something I said. What did I say? Um, uh, well, we were touring the South Control Room, and I said something back to the one agent, I…think. I dunno, was I not allowed to speak unless spoken to?_ His panic turned to dread. _Are they gonna kick me off the force before I've even joined the squad? Oh no, is my lifelong dream gonna be ruined?_

 _And will I ever live down the humiliation of losing my carefully-crafted confident composure?_

The other agent, the taller one with the afro and the strange combination of Science and Investigation uniforms, stepped forward. "Did you just…do you…you know what Agent Olaf said?"

 _Wait—what?_ "You mean you didn't?" When the agent shook his head, he turned to his fellow recruits. "Octavia? Oz? Did you?"

"Um, no," Oz said, giving him a weird look. Octavia likewise shook her head, blonde pigtails bouncing.

"What's your name?" the tall agent asked.

The recruit took a deep breath. "Oren," he said slowly.

"Oren," the tall agent repeated. "Hang on a sec." With that he turned and bolted for the stairs to Ms. O's office.

The other agent, apparently named Olaf, _tsked_ a few times. "That Oscar, always running somewhere. He's kind of a funny guy, but he's nice."

Oren nodded and exhaled. "Good to know."

There it was again. "Dude, what do you mean, 'good to know'?" Oz burst out, looking completely flabbergasted. "He literally said 'plunk, plink'!"

"Um, I think it was 'plink, plunk'," Octavia corrected earnestly.

 _What are they talking about?_ "No, he didn't," Oren said, narrowing his eyes in confusion. "Olaf clearly said—"

"There you are!"

Oren stopped mid-sentence and gulped. Standing in front of him next to Agent Oscar was a small girl in purple with the most frightening stern expression he had ever seen. There could be no mistaking who she was. "Ms. O?"

"You're the one Oscar told me about? The first kid we've had who can understand Olaf?"

He frowned. "What do you mean, the first?"

"Because as was already established upon my enlistment into this elite governmental organization operated by juveniles, I convey all of my utterances through minimalistic vocabulary. And because it is laborious for many agents to translate, I have never been allocated a co-worker in my near-decade of service. Therefore in conclusion, your uncanny ability to comprehend my language—which sounds nonunique and effortlessly discernible to you—has designated you as my chosen counterpart."

Discreetly, Oscar produced a Cricket-Chirpinator for the awkward silence that followed.

"I get the feeling we were supposed to understand that," Octavia remarked eventually, allowing Oscar to put away his gadget.

Oren raised an eyebrow at Olaf. "So, you're saying that because I can somehow understand what you say, yet no one else can, that makes you my partner?"

Olaf grinned like a giant red puppy on Halloween and grabbed Oren in a bear hug. " _Yay!_ "

"Oof! Yeah, great!" Oren grunted, managing a smile in spite of his ribs being squeezed to death. Meanwhile, Octavia and Oz applauded.

Ms. O thought for a moment. "Hmm. I had planned for a slightly different partner arrangement…but for now," she added with a rare smile, "I think you were right, Oscar. They'll make a good team."

More applause. Olaf _yay_ ed again, and Oren grinned with pride. _So I didn't screw things up after all. I promise I'll never let it go to my head._

"Octavia and Oz," Ms. O went on, turning to the other two recruits, "you two will be partners, too. And now that that's all settled and you've all had your complete tour—" she brought out three uniform capsules and three badges numbered 41, 52, and 71 "—you three are now ready to become full agents."

With that, all of Oren's remaining fears about not being good enough for the Odd Squad melted away, and his sheer pride and ambition were back. Not only was he good enough to be an agent, but he had been given an important job that no one else could do. With a little time and a little work, he might climb the ranks even higher. _But no need to set the bar as high as Management yet,_ he reminded himself. _Though I promise I'll be generous and humble about it when it does happen. Shouldn't be too hard, after all._

While Octavia and Oz chattered on in excitement about getting to work together ("I can't believe we've been best friends since we were born _and_ we get to be partners!") and Olaf made small talk involving partnership and potatoes, Oren tuned out and instead perked up at the mention of his name in Ms. O's conversation with Agent Oscar. "That _was_ a brilliant idea you had, making Oren partners with Olaf," she said, the flattery thick in her voice.

Oscar didn't seem to notice. "Oh, hehe, well, I-I just made the observation and told you about it," he said, ears pink.

Ms. O waved a hand dismissively. "Of course. Now, just in case, I have to go run through their partnerships with the Imagine-What-It-Would've-Been-Like-Inators. I was wondering if you'd like some practice being my adviser and helping me out?"

"Oh, uh, sure!" he said with a grin. But Oren noticed that his eyes were flitting nervously in the direction of the slide.

"Great. Now follow me," Ms. O said with one last smile, heading in the direction of her office. With one last nervous look, Oscar trotted after her.

 _Well, that was strange,_ Oren mused. _Wonder what he was looking at?_ Curious, he craned his neck in the direction of the slide and spotted an agent with a brunette ponytail standing by her desk. She was intently focused on Oscar and Ms. O, and from this distance she appeared to be… Angry? Sad? Confused? Upset? Oren pushed his favorite hipster glasses into place, but he still couldn't quite tell. _Hmm. Something fishy's going on here._ Mentally Oren filed away what he'd just seen and started off after his new partner Olaf, who was showing Octavia and Oz to their lockers. _Note to self: the hierarchy at Odd Squad is more complicated than I thought. Better learn the ropes fast if I'm going to advance in rank._

* * *

A few months later, after he'd had time to get acquainted with the tricks of the trade and establish himself as a decent agent, Oren started his climb by following Olaf's recommendation and making friends with Agent Olive, the brunette-ponytail girl. She was nice enough and clearly a really good agent, but she seemed a little, well, distracted. When he tried to ask her about what kinds of cases she had solved, she kept tapping her fingers against the side of her leg and avoiding his gaze as she answered. It didn't take a whole lot of prodding for him to find out that Oscar, his other tour guide from before, was her partner, but lately he'd been leaving her for the lab, which distressed her. Oren guessed that something else with that might be going on beneath the surface, but he didn't try to pry. And there was something more, too, that Olive seemed to be going through at the moment, but no matter how he cajoled her, she refused to say a thing. After that, she got irritated and demanded he leave her alone, insisting she had a ton of work to do. Oren raised his eyebrows in annoyance and left, a snide comment simmering in his mind.

"I dunno why you thought she was gonna be helpful," he snorted, plopping down next to Olaf at the other chair in the break room. "She didn't want to talk to me about any cases. Thinks she's too good, that's what."

Setting his potato aside, Olaf let out a dramatic howl. But what Oren heard was, "Don't judge a book by its cover, partner. You don't know her story."

 _Whatever,_ he thought, rolling his eyes. _If she's going to be too good for the likes of a new agent like me, that's all the story I need._

 _Never mind. I'll learn what I need to know, whether she wants to help me or not. That oughta take the wind out of her high-and-mighty sails._

* * *

Christmas season rolled around, and with it a new case for Olive. Although agents had Christmas Day off, she was called in anyways to solve a case where three sisters had all the gifts in their stockings turned into potatoes. Unfortunately, the lab had no such gadget to fix them.

She ended up taking all the potatoes back to the empty headquarters to figure out what to do. Though it pained her to admit it, Olive knew that Oscar might be able to help her with his experience from time spent in the lab. Reluctantly she called him and asked him to come help, but merely got this response:

"Sorry Olive, but I'm in Vancouver for the holidays and you know the tubes are closed today. Maybe you could ask Agent Olaf—" Olive hung up on him and bit her lip, hard.

Nevertheless, she took Oscar's advice and phoned Olaf. Not that she understood how exactly he was responding to her, but all the "Yays!" sure sounded like a good sign. Not too long after, he arrived at headquarters—with his grumpy-looking partner in tow.

"Why do you always have to bring me along?" Oren whined, dragging his feet. "I hadn't gotten a chance to play with my new Schmumberman action figures yet! We're not supposed to—" he stopped as he spotted Olive for the first time. "Ugh, what are _you_ doing here?"

Olive sighed. "I got called in today for three sisters whose stocking presents turned into potatoes. I was hoping Olaf could help."

Olaf howled. "He says he invented a Potatoinator several years ago," Oren translated, looking as though he'd seen this kind of thing too many times to react anymore. "If you give him a few minutes, he can reset it to be an Un-Potatoinator."

"Okay, that'll work," Olive said with a single curt nod.

Oren shot her a disapproving look and for a moment it seemed like he would say something more, but when Olaf immediately pulled out his gadget and set to work, he kept quiet. Instead, to Olive's dismay, he sat at Oscar's vacant desk and pulled out an iPod and earbuds.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, lunging forward and snatching the buds out of his ears. "That's my partner's desk. You can't sit there!"

"Oh, I can't?" he said sweetly, in a way that sickened Olive. "That's funny, but I thought your 'partner' didn't want to be around you anymore." To infuriate her even further, Oren then put his feet up on the desktop and lounged in the chair. "Is it because you're always this much of a bully around other people, perhaps?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Olive retorted with a glare. "I'm just as annoyed about coming to work today as you are! Oscar said you and Olaf would help me—"

Too late she realized what she'd implied, and Oren quickly took advantage of her Freudian slip of the tongue. "Oh, _Oscar_ was the one who made us come in today, now was he? Well gee, you'd think with all that time he spends in the lab, he might be decent enough to come and try to invent an Un-Potatoinator for you himself. But noooo, even his Christmas break is more important than his own partner."

Olive could feel her face growing red with anger and even a little embarrassment. "But he's in Va—"

"Is there a reason for that, perhaps?" Oren went on, as if he hadn't heard her. "Maybe…" He glanced over and caught her blush. "Ohh, I think I know," he said with a grin that reminded her a little too much of Todd. "Is it that maybe you _like_ him, but maybe he doesn't like you? Maybe that's why he's staying away from you, is it?"

"Stop it!" Olive protested, clapping her hands over her ears. "Look who's being the bully now!"

"Potato!"

The two quarrelers looked over at Olaf in surprise, both having forgotten he was even there. Eyes shining happily as ever, Olaf pointed the gadget at the pile of potatoes and fired. Instantly they were replaced with tiny wrapped parcels and trinkets of all sorts (although one of them remained a potato for some reason, wrapped up in a little red bow). Relieved _that_ was finally over, Olive began scooping up the gifts and dropping them back into the three stockings.

Oren cleared his throat. "Ahem? Don't you have something to say to Olaf for doing all that work for you _and_ resisting the temptation to take one of those potatoes for himself?"

Rolling her eyes, Olive forced on the sweetest smile she could muster. "Thank you for helping me solve my case today, Olaf."

"And?"

 _I swear I'm going to ruin him one of these days._ "Merry Christmas," she ground out, still smiling.

"Much better." He snapped his fingers. "Come on, Olaf. I've got action figures to play with." And with that, they sauntered off.

Olive grit her teeth and blinked back hot tears. _It doesn't mean a thing to you,_ she tried to reassure herself. _Nothing at all._

If only it didn't all seem so true.

She shook her head violently, trying to rid herself of the thought. _He just wants to get on your nerves. He's annoyed at coming in on vacation, and he took it all out on me. That's all it is, it has to be._

Little did Olive know the _real_ reason Oren was so troubled…


	23. The Queer

**A/N This will pretty much be all disclaimers, so sorry about that. Here we go...**

 **DISCLAIMER #1: This one's on request from a reader who PMed me. Just a reminder that I do not expect most of what's in my fanfic to be true in the real show, obviously: it's just a way for me to express possible headcanons/theories I have that I may or may not actually believe myself. For example, in the last chapter I threw in the bit about ASPD because in several episodes, Olive is quick to plug her ears at sounds that aren't that loud, and I got a kick out of offering a mock explanation for that in my story. So if something I write in here bothers you readers, please do let me know and I'll try to address it, but keep in mind that I write my story assuming most of its content will be taken with a grain of salt (especially with this particular chapter - see Disc. #3).**

 **DISCLAIMER #2: Another reader recently left a review on my story "Viva La Vida" asking when I would update it again. The answer is I'm going to wait to finish it and "Patterns" until this story is done, because tbh it's really tricky to keep so many plotlines running through my head _in addition to_ the rest of my non-Odd Squad-related life. To prove it, I'm not going to post the new Contest until I've finished VLV and updated PotP, especially since those two were contest-winner stories and I kinda have to hold up to my end of the bargain on those. :)**

 **DISCLAIMER #3: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it, some of you readers may find this chapter offensive and possibly slightly T-rated for a certain mature theme (again, absolutely nothing graphic). I myself am a little uncomfortable with it, especially since the theme suggested by the chapter title has no place in a kid's show like Odd Squad (see Disc. #1), and I don't exactly condone any implied ships here. But two things: one, I have a promise to hold up to in regards to certain ships from the first Contest, and two, I think it's only fair to include diverse forms of of ships in a shipping fanfic about a TV show focused on equality and diversity. Besides, I am intentionally doing my best to keep it VERY VAGUE, mainly keeping in mind that the two characters I talk about in this chapter are in fact kids and maybe not entirely sure if they're really gay or not. So, yeah. Don't hate, but constructive criticism is definitely appreciated. :)**

The Queer

"Wow. Sounds like you both could've _really_ used some better communication skills."

They couldn't help it. Olive and Oscar burst out laughing at both Otto's comment and the _what-a-stupid-pair-of-idiots_ look on his face. "It's so true, though," Oscar said once they'd calmed down a bit. "Looking back, it _was_ kind of dumb how we didn't just suck it up and talk to each other about the whole thing, heh. In fact, if I'd been reading some weird online story about this, I would've said the author had written herself into some _huge_ plot hole."

"Oh yeah," Olive agreed with one last chuckle. "Talk about stupid. I guess I was just too proud, y'know? Deep down I think I wanted Oscar to be the one who would tell me first what was going on with him, not the other way around. So it was easy to believe everything Oren said."

"And I thought Olive always preferred having Todd around instead of me, so when he left I tried to leave her alone, or something like that," Oscar added.

Otto shook his head and snorted. "Todd and Oren just made everything way too complicated, didn't they?"

Olive and Oscar exchanged glances. "Oh, it got even more complicated than that," Olive smiled knowingly as Oscar cleared his throat and began to fidget. "So let's back up a couple months in the story to October 2012…"

* * *

xxx

* * *

When conducting a science experiment, it's never a good idea to attempt reversing the polarity of the neutron flow if your mind is distracted and full of other things.

Unfortunately, Oscar was about to learn that the hard way. The other day after coming back from a visit to Agent Odie, he had been so distracted that he'd accidentally set off the Puddinginator and hit Agent Orchid's recently-completed master sandcastle. Several angry bite marks and scratches later, he promised to set things right by inventing an Unpuddinginator ("Which we _really_ should've done a long time ago," Ms. O admitted). In theory, this was a simple task: reversing the polarity of a Puddinginator's neutron flow would make the power source work backwards, which would essentially undo an object's transformation into pudding, and thus an Unpuddinginator would be built. However, the person overseeing the experiment had to pay close attention to the entire process, because if even one little thing went wrong…

"OOOOOOSCAAAAAAAAARRR!"

Slowly taking off his soot-covered glasses, Oscar dimly became aware of the panicked scientists and agents scurrying every which way as the smoke-triggered sprinklers blasted all of headquarters. "Sorry, Ms. O!" he shouted back, biting his lip as he stared at the hazy outline of what had once been a Puddinginator.

A few minutes later, once the sprinklers had been shut off and the smoke cleared, Ms. O marched right in as he was mopping up the mess. "Agent Oscar! What _happened_ in here?" she demanded to know.

"I-I-I don't know," he stammered. "I was r-reversing the polarity and…I guess I g-got distracted…"

She cocked her head, concerned. "Is something wrong?"

Immediately he shook his head and forced a smile. "Nonono, nothing at all, heh! Everything's good here! I'm totally fine, promise!"

"Ohh-kaaay…" With a sidelong skeptical look, Ms. O started to leave. "Just let me know if you decide something _is_ wrong. Or if you want to bring me a juicebox. Either one works."

Oscar breathed a sigh of relief as she left. _I can't let anyone know what happened the other day,_ he thought. _Odie would never forgive me if I told on him._

 _Still…why did he have to do that to me?_

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Agent Olaf with his new partner Oren, the agent-in-training he'd given a tour to a few months ago, sitting at their desks. They seemed to be reviewing a case file together while eating a quick lunch. On the other side of the aisle, Olive was standing at her filing cabinet organizing her folders. The sight made Oscar sad, and a little wistful. _She's a wonderful agent now, just like I always said she'd be. Of course she doesn't need me. She never did._

He sighed. _I never made a good partner anyway. Not like Oren and Olaf. They're great partners together. Nothing could ever go wrong there._

* * *

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Oscar, everything between Oren and Olaf was indeed about to go very, very wrong.

Up until now, working at Odd Squad had been everything Oren had hoped for and more. His prestige climbed with every successful case, and with it the admiration of his seasoned partner. He and Olaf had become great friends, too, and over time had learned much about each other while out solving cases. Each knew the others' strengths and weaknesses, likes and dislikes, and how to contribute to their partnership. Like today—Olaf had made potato soup for the two of them to share for lunch, while Oren had located and was annotating the case file they were assigned to research, about what exactly the Mayan calendar predicted for December 21 of this year. And once their lunch and notes were done, the two planned to collaborate on their report to Ms. O, telling her what—if anything—Odd Squad needed to be on the lookout for in the coming months. Finally, when all their work was done for the day, Olaf would go visit his Uncle Fonts or the Potato Room and bring Oren along, or Oren would relax in the break room and openly judge all of the passing agents while Olaf would laugh. The pattern of each day with Olaf as a coworker and friend had become so set in his brain that Oren almost couldn't expect anything different to happen.

Except he forgot one thing: he _was_ employed at Odd Squad.

So naturally, it was at this moment that, out of nowhere, Olaf blurted out, "Olaf has something to tell partner. Olaf thinks maybe he likes boys."

Oren dropped his pen from one hand and choked on his spoon with the other. A potato cube lodged in his throat, and he coughed until it worked free and forced its way down. "I'm sorry, _what?_ " he asked, certain he'd heard wrong.

He hadn't. "Olaf thinks maybe he likes boys," Olaf repeated, gazing levelly at Oren. "And that maybe he likes Partner most of all."

"…" For once in his life, even if he'd had an entire century to think about it, Oren was so stunned that he had absolutely no answer to that. _At least he's always been good at being straightforward,_ he thought, though it didn't help anything. "I…I…are you sure?" he finally managed, just as everything his partner said really started to sink in. "More than your potato?"

Olaf shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe more than even Potato."

 _Drat. There goes that hope._ Oren tried to think back over the past several months for some scrap of memory that could have hinted at this if only he'd paid more attention, but his mental search came up empty. All that came up was Olaf being his buddy, his partner, nothing more. So this didn't make sense at all. His mind became a whirlwind: _We're just kids…where did he get the idea from so early…is that who I am too? No, no it can't be…I don't know about this…how can I say no?_

 _Or, more importantly, how can I say no and still be his friend?_

 _Do I even have to say no yet?_

"Um…look, Olaf," Oren began, clearing his throat nervously, "I appreciate you coming out to me and all, but, um…I'm not sure I feel the same way…?"

Olaf's face fell. "Partner say no?"

"No, no! Er, well, not _yet_. I was just thinking—I mean, we _are_ kids and all, a-and it's kind of early to figure out something like _that_. For sure, at least. So maybe, y'know, we could…" _How do I say this?_ "Well, we could…"

"Try it?"

Oren cringed a little. "Not exactly, but…something like that, yeah. S-sure. Just until we figure out if it would work or not."

Olaf beamed. "Yay!" he crowed. "Now back to work?"

 _Straightforward and_ _on-task_ _._ "Yes! Absolutely!"

"And then movie tonight?"

 _Oh. Of course. I_ _did_ _just __tell him we'd try for a bit, didn't I._ "Um…sure, okay. But work for now." Yet though he tried to focus on his annotations, Oren's mind was still in turmoil. He didn't even realize that, subconsciously, he had scooted his chair a tiny bit farther away from his own partner.

* * *

Two days earlier, Oscar had gone to pay a long-overdue visit to Agent Odie.

"Well, look who's finally back after the Great Worm War," Odie remarked dryly, setting down the green Bunsen burner he'd been cleaning. "Not to mention finally a Lab Director, I see."

Oscar took a seat without being told. "Glad to be back, Odie! And um, not exactly, heh," he corrected. "I haven't been officially promoted yet. Still in the process of switching over from Investigation."

Odie raised an eyebrow. " _Still?_ You've been 'in the process' for over nine years now."

"Y-yes, well…" Oscar decided to change the subject. "Anyway, how are you doing these days?"

"Oh, not too bad. Busy as usual, inventing gadgets, doing experiments. You know how it is." As he was talking, Odie pulled over a chair for himself, and Oscar suddenly noticed for the first time that his friend had gotten a new haircut. Parted in the middle, slicked down on the sides, and fluffed up in the back, Odie's hair made him look every inch the scientist. "Your new hairstyle looks good," Oscar admired. "It's the best one I've seen yet."

Unexpectedly, Odie stiffened and narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I thought I'd try something…different. Again…" He shook his head. "Never mind. Now, I want to hear everything about what you saw on the front lines."

Oscar ignored the urge to ask what that had been about, instead running a hand through his own curly hair and laughing nervously. "Wow, well, it's been almost a year since I got back. Let's see…"

It took the better part of two hours to finish his tale, in part from several years worth of events to tell and in part because Odie had so many questions. By the time Oscar finally _did_ finish his tale, his voice was so hoarse that Odie fired back up the Bunsen burner and quickly brewed some carrot tea, Oscar's favorite. The conversation then shifted to other important matters, like new Odd Science techniques from around the world ("Can you believe some Lab Director in Ireland put plutonium and bananas in a DeLorean to power a time machine?"), funniest requests from Ms. O and Mr. O ("He once asked me to invent a gadget that would make pomegranate milk. It was so disgusting!"), or their favorite topic, "On a scale of one to rejecting Hitler from Odd Squad, how disastrous was Soundcheck: The Musical?" All in all, Oscar was content. It had been too long since he'd been in the company of his good friend and fellow Lab Director, and it was nice to get away from work back in Toronto and take his mind off things. He hadn't felt this happy in a long time.

Until the conversation inevitably led to some of the latest gadgets they'd invented.

"If you're still technically in Investigation," Odie mused, "have you even _had_ any time to invent gadgets yet?"

"Oh yeah!" Oscar assured him, pulling out a few gadgets from between the folds of his suit jacket and lab coat. "Only a couple, plus a Triangulator that's not with me at the moment, but this here is a Hair-Gel-into-Cream-Cheese-inator. And, uh, this one's a Before-Now Machine, and then this one's a—"

Oscar stopped mid-sentence when he saw the gadget wasn't there.

A second later, he realized his hand had brushed it just enough to knock it off the table. At the exact same moment that Odie was reaching to pick it up.

All this, and what came next, passed in the blink of an eye. But for Oscar, it was one of those all-too-few rare moments where time stretched out, and he knew exactly what was happening and what the consequences would be. Instinct took over, and for once, he was able to change the future just in time.

" _Odie NO!_ "

Without thinking, Oscar launched out of his chair and dove at his friend, pushing Odie to the floor and out of the way just as a green beam shot out of the dropped gadget. It whizzed through the air right above the latter's chair before fizzling harmlessly against the wall.

Odie stared at the gadget, eyes wide in alarm. "What _was_ that?"

"Couchinator. Would've turned you into a couch. Haven't invented an Uncounchinator yet."

"Oh. Thanks, man."

Neither moved as each struggled to catch their breath, still getting over the shock of the moment. It was a little while before Oscar happened to notice that he was still lying on top of Odie, pinning his friend to the floor. For some reason this embarrassed him a little.

Odie was looking at Oscar strangely, as if something had occurred to him that hadn't before. "Oscar?" he asked softly, his voice husky. "Are you…? I mean, do you still… _like_ Olive?"

Oscar tensed. Was now really the time? "…Yes. Y-yeah, I think I do. I mean, I don't know if she…y'know…but yeah."

"Oh."

And then:

"Do you…do you think you'd ever, um—I mean—do you think you'll ever move on from her? Like, if you think you won't like her after awhile."

 _Uh-oh. Is this going where I think it's going?_ "What are you saying, Odie?"

"Well…would you ever be interested in…y'know…not just girls?"

 _Is Odie saying he's…? Oh, no…_

Oscar drew in a sharp breath. "Odie, I—no." Spurred into action at last, he rolled off and stood up, but didn't back away. "Look, I…I don't think that's who I am. Alright?"

Odie made no reply. Feeling a little bad, Oscar held out a hand and pulled his friend to his feet. "How long have you known? I mean, about you."

"That's just it. I don't know if I _do_ know." Odie sighed. "It's just something I've been wondering about for the past few weeks or so. Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. What would I know, I'm a kid on Odd Squad, I'm not…" Suddenly he got really upset. "Look, I'm really sorry, Oscar! I didn't mean to make that whole thing awkward, it just popped into my head and I—"

"Hey, hey!" Oscar cut him off, taking him by the shoulders. "Don't talk like that. It's okay. I'm not going to stop being your friend just because you're still figuring things out. Now, does anyone else know?"

Odie shook his head. "No, just you."

"Then I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to, either. Friends don't tell on friends, no matter what. Okay?"

It took a moment, but Odie slowly nodded. "Okay. I'm sorry, I totally screwed that up."

"Don't be." Oscar took his hands away and checked his watch as he carefully gathered up his gadgets. "I probably need to get back to Toronto now. Thanks for letting me visit, it was good to finally catch up."

"Yeah, it was." Odie managed a smile. "Come back again sometime, alright?"

Oscar laughed, though it came out a little strained. "Of course, heh!"

But on the tube ride back, he wasn't laughing. Even though he knew Odie felt bad about it and wouldn't bring it up again, Oscar still felt uncomfortable about the whole thing. He'd meant what he said about remaining Odie's friend, but he still wished none of it had happened. Worse, an awful suspicion had crept into his mind. _What if Odie isn't the only one who thought that about me? What if other agents do, too?_

 _What if that's why Olive doesn't like me?_

* * *

The idea did occur to Olive, actually. But she didn't know about his friendship with Odie yet, so she immediately dismissed the thought. However, as she watched Ms. O leave the lab after asking Oscar to bring her a juicebox when he finished cleaning up the mess, there was one suspicion that refused to be dismissed so easily.

 _What if the reason Oscar doesn't like me…is because he actually likes Ms. O?_

* * *

Meanwhile, Odie was having suspicions of his own.

 _What if Oscar was only lying? What if he doesn't really want to be my friend anymore? What if he actually hates me, and today I only made it worse?_

 _What if that's why he's always copied my hair designs?_

* * *

And finally, as they presented their finished report, Oren discreetly eyed his partner. Once unquestionably his close friend, he no longer had any idea what to make of Olaf now. But in the back of his mind, a vague idea was flickering.

 _He always chided me for bullying other people, never mind that it's all part of my plan._

 _But if I keep doing it even more…will that make him realize I'm not the right one?_

 _What if it doesn't matter? What if I'm only hiding in the closet after all?_


	24. The Scientist

**A/N Hey guys. So...I've got a sad announcement to make. Due to the pressures of senior year and my waning interest in writing this story, I'm going to make this the last chapter. Look, I know, I know, I had way more planned for this story (which is _far_ from finished, argh!), and I'll probably still do the Contest, but...when ya gotta stop, ya gotta stop. Otherwise the rest of the story would be crud or just not happen anyway. So, again, really really sorry. :( More on why I'm making this tough decision at the bottom. So enjoy the final chapter, guys. Hope you like it, and  huge thanks to all you wonderful readers for your enduring support. I hope you understand. :')**

The Scientist

The first thing Dr. O said when Oscar wandered into the Medical Bay was, "You _really_ need to stop asking Flo to cut your hair."

Oscar frowned. "What's wrong with how Mom does it? It's hard enough she's busy working at Progressive Insurance all day. She does exactly what I ask for, too!"

Dr. O set down the scalpel she was cleaning and gave him a pointed look.

"Plus I thought you and everyone else hated the afro, Opal!" he added.

Up went the eyebrows. "I'm still Dr. O, not Agent Opal anymore. And this one makes you look like an alfalfa space beehive," Dr. O answered, a hint of disgust mixed into her disbelief.

"It does _not!_ " Oscar protested, instinctively touching a hand to his parted, slicked-back, fluffed-up hair, styled just like Odie's. "It makes me look like a scientist!"

"It makes you—" she stopped and shook her head. "Never mind. You're obviously not injured, which means you wanted to chat. How is becoming a scientist going, anyhow?"

Oscar took a seat and sighed. "That's what I came about. My extra ten years are almost up. There's nothing left for me to do now except get promoted to Lab Director."

Dr. O's eyes widened. "But that's great news! You've been looking forward to this for _years._ It's what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

"Of course it is! It's just…I originally wanted an extension so I could have time to talk things over with Olive. Y-y'know, explain to her why I was switching departments and c-couldn't be her partner anymore, heh. B-but…"

 _He's stuttering again,_ she noted. _He only does that anymore when he's really nervous or really upset._ "Let me guess: you still never told her?"

Oscar pressed his lips together in a thin line and shook his head. "N-no. But that's not even the real problem. Every time I t-tried to tell her, something happened to interrupt me or sh-she looked like she didn't want to b-be around me. I don't…well, I…I d-don't think she even wants me around enough to c-care that I'm leaving her t-to be Head Scientist." He looked up at her with worry in his soft brown eyes. "What do you think?"

For a moment Dr. O wasn't sure what to say. This wasn't just a medical problem to diagnose, prescribe, and move on from—this was an old friend coming to her for advice. Advice she wasn't sure she knew how to give. "I know how you feel, Oscar," she began.

"…really?"

"No, it's just something I thought I should say to start with. Next I was going to sit on the other waiting chair and figure out where to go from there." To illustrate her point, she moved aside the stack of magazines from the seat beside Oscar and sat down next to him. "Which is that I think you need to tell her the truth."

"But I—"

"Has Olive ever actually _said_ she didn't want you around?"

"Well, no. It's just seemed like—"

"OSCAR!"

The two of them jumped. Standing in the doorway to the Medical Bay was none other than Ms. O, and from the look of her it was clear she meant business. "There you are, Oscar. I need to see you in my office immedia _didyougetahaircut?_ "

Oscar hopped up. "Um…yes?" he said, though it came out more like a squeak to Dr. O.

Ms. O beamed. "It looks good on you. Much better than your last one." As she led him out, Dr. O heard her say, "But it would look even _more_ better on you if you would start wearing the _full_ scientist uniform. Only a month or so until your promotion, you know."

"Yes, well, about that…" Their voices drifted away as the doors to Ms. O's office slid shut.

Dr. O knit her brow. Though not a psychologist, she didn't like what her doctor's intuition was telling her about the situation. Not one bit. There was too much the partners didn't seem to be telling each other, and though she couldn't know for certain, Dr. O suspected that more than a partnership—maybe even more than a friendship—was at stake. Part of her wanted to intervene and go force Oscar to tell Olive herself ("You're _ten_ now, you're in double digits!"), but another part of her said it wasn't her business, and still another part of her knew that social skills had never been her strong point and she would only make things worse. With a sigh, she went back to cleaning her scalpel. Better to stick with things she knew how to do.

Even though Oscar clearly didn't know how to do what he needed to do either.

* * *

Olive was growing desperate.

She no longer remembered the last case Oscar had accompanied her on.

She no longer denied to herself that Oscar was deliberately taking a career path separate from hers.

She certainly no longer believed he was ever going to explain anything to her.

And now, she was starting to doubt he had ever really _liked_ her.

 _Only one way to find out_ , she thought to herself as she pulled two sack lunches out of the break room fridge. _I can't believe I'm eleven now, yet I still never tried to talk to him myself about this sooner. Maybe the only problem is that I didn't ask._ Setting her own lunch down on the break room table, Olive shook out the contents of Oscar's lunch bag and arranged them on a yellow plate, then swallowed some of her pride and carried it over to the lab. After looking around she spotted Oscar in the corner, atypically without the lab coat he'd taken to wearing, tinkering on what looked like a big white computer tower. Suddenly a chill went down her spine as she felt an odd mixture of fear, sadness, and anger at the sight of him. "Oscar?" she called, trying to shake it off.

He didn't answer. Olive stepped closer and cleared her throat. "Oscar, I brought your lunch," she tried again, prompting, a little firmer this time.

Still no response. Olive glanced at her watch, seeing it was nearly one-thirty. "Oscar," she managed sternly, "it's way past lunchtime, and you've been working for hours. You need to take a lunch break." _So I can ask you a few questions,_ she added to herself.

This got a response, but not what she had hoped for. "Can't stop now, Olive," Oscar muttered without looking up. "I'm trying to fix this for Agent O'Connor— _yeowza!_ " He jerked his hand back as a shower of sparks burst out. "For odd's sake, why won't it just _work?_ "

"But Oscar—!" It was no use. An unfamiliar yet clear sense of outrage building deep inside her, Olive let out a noise of frustration not unlike Ms. O's growl, slammed the lunch plate on the counter beside her, and stalked out of of the lab amidst stares from the other scientists.

Other scientists.

Olive pondered that as she flopped into a break room chair in front of her own lunch, alone, with an irritated huff. Had she really started thinking of Oscar as just another scientist, not her own partner? Was that her only conclusion from all the times over the years he'd refused to talk to her and run off, usually to the lab?

And just now, he'd flinched at the sound of the lunch plate bashing the countertop…

Was that why, looking back, she had a vague sense of satisfaction from watching the boy she liked flinch?

 _I need to get away for a bit,_ she told herself, staring down at her barely touched food with no real appetite. _There's still time before my lunch break ends. I wonder if Polly's is open…_

* * *

The moment Olive left, Oscar's stomach got the better of him.

Sighing, he stood up and brushed himself off, then eyed the plate of food. His packed lunch, a cheese sandwich with carrot sticks and a Shmumbercrunch bar, arranged neatly on a plate just for him. _No wonder Olive sounded so upset when she came in here_ , Oscar thought as he took a bite of his sandwich. _Ms. O or someone must've told her to bring this to me. She'd never do that on her own. Not for someone as nervous and stupid as me._

He thought back to the two—no, three—meetings he'd had earlier that morning. After his chat with Dr. O, Ms. O had wanted him to fill out an entire deskload of paperwork to send to the Big Office so it could be processed in time for his promotion to Lab Director, then none-too-gently reminded him that his thirty-page dissertation was due in a week, completely drawn and colored. (I'm sure you all can imagine what "none-too-gently" entailed in this case, of course.) Oscar had actually completely forgotten about the dissertation, but even with all his nervous fidgeting and messing with his glasses, he somehow managed to convince Ms. O that it was almost done and would be "ready in no time, heh!"

But before he could think about how on earth he was going to draw and color an entire dissertation in time, Ms. O had remarked, "And by now you _have_ to have explained everything to Olive, right?"

"Uhh…" Oscar had thought fast. Maybe this time he could get away with another lie? "Y-yes, of course, heh! She knows and everything's just great!"

Luckily, by then Ms. O was too busy ordering an assistant to organize all of the completed paperwork into an octagon-shaped envelope to pay attention to his second lie, so she didn't notice; thus, with a final reminder about also becoming her adviser once he was promoted, she had sent him on his way. But as Oscar was leaving the office, Agent O'Connor—part-time Odd Squad journalist, scientist, and Tube Operator—had suddenly approached him with a huge white gadget. He explained that his Blue-Roominator was broken and he couldn't do his Odd Reports anymore. Oscar agreed to fix it, and as thanks, O'Connor offered him a position filming the occasional Odd Report with him as well as writing articles for his newsletter. Thinking the idea sounded fun, Oscar immediately accepted.

However, now with the time to look back on it, he was starting to wonder if that had really been such a good decision. With three new separate careers and obligations coming up for him at Odd Squad, plus all that homework he had to do, there would be _even less_ time to see Olive, let alone finally tell her the truth like Dr. O urged him to. _Then again,_ Oscar reasoned as he finished his lunch, _there's probably no point in telling her the truth by now, anyways._

Glancing back at the Blue-Roominator, it suddenly occurred to him that the gadget wasn't plugged in. Laughing at his stupidity, Oscar reached down and pushed the plug into the outlet, and watched as the gadget came to life. _Guess food really_ _does_ _help me think clearly._

And, naturally, that's when the electrical overload blew a fuse and the lab lights went out.

* * *

Olive ended up making a regular habit of visiting Polly's lemonade stand during the summer of 2013. So as not to get in the way of work, she promised herself to only go on a really stressful day, or whenever another attempt at talking to Oscar failed for whatever reason. Which ended up meaning she spent a lot of time and money on lemonade. Polly seemed to understand, though, that Olive had good reason for escaping HQ, and never asked her anything beyond small talk, for which the young agent was grateful.

But like her cousin, Polly was a naturally curious and outspoken kid, and one afternoon in early August, this got the better of her. "So, Olive," she began over the sloshing sounds of her shaking the lemonade mixture, "if you don't mind me asking, you always seem kinda…I don't know, kinda sad. At least, whenever you come here." She set down the mixed glass. "Is something wrong?"

A warning bell went off in Olive's mind that someone was onto her, but she tried to ignore it. "Oh, um, no. Nothing's wrong." _She doesn't need to know, not if it's about her own cousin._

But all it took was the look of concern in the girl's umber eyes for Olive to cave in. "Okay, fine. It's kind of a long story, but I've been—well, it's about—it has to do with Oscar."

Pausing mid-scoop in the ice cubes, Polly cocked her head. "Oscar? You're his partner, right? Did he do something wrong again?"

 _Did he do something wrong, indeed._ "Yes—no! I mean…I don't know," she admitted. "I'm so confused. He won't talk to me about anything anymore, and for the past several years he's avoided so many of the cases we were assigned together. Like, I keep finding him working in the lab for odd-knows-why, pretending to be a scientist. I thought it was just a side hobby—"

It was then Olive noticed Polly staring at her with an incredulous expression. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Polly blinked, mouth gaping. "You mean you don't know?" she said softly, almost pityingly.

Olive narrowed her eyes. "Don't know what?"

"Ugh, it would be just like Oscar to forget to tell you," Polly snorted, rolling her eyes and tossing her blonde braids. "He never remembers to do these sorts of things. Sometimes I wonder why they're even making him Lab Director—"

"Wait, _WHAT?_ "

"Oh, but that's just it, Olive. Lab Director, Head Scientist, whatever you call it—Oscar's wanted the job for _years_. I can't believe he never told you during all this time, though. He's ten now, after all. Sure, I said he was forgetful, but now that I think about it…"

Polly went on and on about her cousin's alleged absentmindedness, but her voice faded away over the internal roar in Olive's ears. Polly's flippant words echoed through her incomprehending mind over and over, like a record player stuck on repeat.

 _…Lab Director…_

 _…Head Scientist…_

 _…Lab Director…_

 _…Head Scientist…_

 _…Lab Director…_

 _…Head Scientist…_

And then a new thought entered her head: _Ms. O_ _lied_ _to me._

 _They_ _all_ _lied to me…_

 _…because they didn't care._

 _He never cared._

 _He never CARED._

 _HENEVERCAREDHENEVERCAREDHENEVERCAREDHENEVERCAREDHENEVERCAREDHENEVERCAREDHENEVERCARED_ _HENEVERCARED_ _HENEVERCARED_ _HENEVERCARED_ _HENEVERCARED_ _HENEVERCARED_

Her lemonade glass lay forgotten on the wooden counter. Polly's cries of forgetting the garnishes went unheard.

* * *

At long last, all traces of the Investigation uniform are gone

and only the scientist's garb remains.

There's a certificate, a handshake, a final sign on the dotted line.

Eager scientists standing behind, milliseconds away from cheering loudly to welcome their new Lab Director.

The boss standing ahead, microseconds away from gaining a new adviser.

And yet

all that is missing

is she who would never want to come.

* * *

Olive was running

feet crushing the grass

diving behind the tree

zooming through the tubes

as if

there

was

no

tomorrow

bouncing out

tearing up

up

up

up the stairs

suddenly stopping

rooted to the spot in shock and betrayal

helpless to silently watch her now former partner leave her forever.

* * *

Dimly

through the blissful chaos

he notices Ms. O glancing at someone outside the glass doors.

"Okay, that's enough now, Olive. Stop lingering and

Get

Back

To

Work!"

 _Olive?_

He turns for oh-so-brief a nanosecond. Their speechless brown eyes meet.

* * *

" _ **So this is how liberty dies...with thunderous applause..."**_

* * *

 _It_

 _was_

 _August_

 _4th,_

 _2013._

* * *

 **A/N So remember what I said at the top?**

 **Well...**

 **...**

 **...**

 **...**

 **...**

 **...APRIL FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLS! ! ! XD XD XD XD XD XD XD XD XD [cues Rick Roll song] [laughs maniacally]**

 **See you all on the next dozen or so chapters!**


	25. The Forgotten

**A/N Okay, okay, I realize I was kinda mean to you all with the April Fools Day prank last chapter. But it mostly worked, so... :D #sorrynotsorry**

 **On another note, gonna address something a reader brought up. Some of you may have noticed in the last chapter that I mentioned Flo the Progressive Lady as Oscar's mom, and several chapters ago I mentioned Dr. Forrester from MST3K as his dad. This was NOT my original idea, actually—it was a hypothetical headcanon/joke that my friend Flying Saucers came up with awhile back. (He left a review on this story explaining the situation, for further reference.) Speaking of FS, I once again recommend you all go check out his _Odd Squad x Batman_ fanfic in the "Crossovers" section as well as his _Odd Squad x Wonder Woman_ fanfic. Both are incredible and you'll enjoy them very much!**

 **And now, the chapter I've wanted to write since January 2015... :)**

The Forgotten

Olive ran blindly.

 _He left me…_

Her cheeks were hot and wet.

 _…he never told me…_

Several agents watched her breeze by, but no one tried to stop her.

 _…he betrayed me…_

As though with minds of their own, her feet carried her down the stairs and guided her to where, in that moment, she inherently, unknowingly, knew she needed to be.

 _…he never cared about me…_

Ephemeral moments later, safely surrounded by brightly-colored balls, where no one could see or hear her, Olive lost herself completely—

 _…he_ _forgot_ _me._

—and she broke down and cried.

* * *

Oscar tried to tear himself away.

 _All this time…_

He really did.

 _…she wasn't trying to leave me…_

But inexplicably, he knew, just _knew_ , the meaning behind the myriad of looks on her face, permanently seared into his mind.

 _…she really did care about me…_

While all the other scientists milled around the office giving more vague, meaningless congratulations, he found himself pulled to the spot where she had been standing—

 _…and I…oh, no…_

—as it finally sank in, far too late, the horror of what he'd done to her.

 _…I hurt her…I hurt her and I pushed her away…_

Oscar's vision blurred as his soft, oh so soft, tender chocolate-brown eyes misted over. Eyes that Olive had once loved but might never love again.

 _…how could I have been so wrong?_

* * *

It was a long time before Olive could find it in her to form a single coherent thought.

 _So what happens now?_ she asked herself hours later, a handful of delayed tears trickling down her cheeks to plop onto the plastic balls surrounding her face. _After, what, twelve years?_ A tiny snort escaped her lips. _Funny, if my math is right, I'll be twelve this December. So in a way, that's been my whole life that…that…I was…_

More tears pricked at the backs of her eyelids, and Olive angrily blinked them back. _Stop it, Olive. Think this through. Like solving a math problem. Okay, so Polly said he wanted to be a scientist for years. But she didn't say_ _when_ _he decided. Could that mean, maybe…oh, God, no. Could that mean he didn't care about me or trust me enough to be my partner? Was I the reason he wanted out of Investigation?_

 _Was it my fault?_

Olive set her jaw and wiped her face, jostling a few of the balls. _No, of course it's not_ _my_ _fault. It's_ _his_ _fault for being a coward and not talking to me. If he didn't like being my partner, he should've told me so, not transferred and left me partnerless without warning. Still…it doesn't make sense that Ms. O would allow foul play like that, unless…_

 _…unless I was right, and she actually fancies him._

 _No wonder Ms. O turned a blind eye. If he's her favorite agent, she'll let him do just about anything that works to her advantage._ She narrowed her eyes. _What am I thinking? That makes no sense. Ms. O might be strict and play favorites, but it's not like she doesn't care about the squad as a whole. I mean, she cared for us all when the pienado hit. No, it can't be all Ms. O. Oscar must have done something to gain her confidence._

Olive let out a bitter sigh. _Maybe Todd was right, after all. Maybe Oscar never truly cared about me. Maybe he just acted like it in the beginning, until I had learned the ropes enough for him to leave me alone. And then I'd be there whenever he needed someone to brag to. If that's the case, then he's quite the actor to fool me for so long._

On and on it went inside her head for hours more, her emotions finally numbing a little with every cycle. Not wanting to endure the taunts from Oren, the excessive sympathies from Octavia, or worse, a run-in with her ex-partner, Olive remained hidden in the ball room until long after closing hours. At some point she dozed off, and when she woke, summoned the nerve to stand up and climb back out into a darkened, empty headquarters. With a small groan her eyes fell on the pile of paperwork left on her desk that she still hadn't dealt with yet. But as she got started on it, it occurred to her that staying after hours to do her work wasn't such a bad idea, after all…

* * *

 _This isn't a safe place._

That's all he could think as he mindlessly set to work inventing his first official gadget, mechanically taking inventory, giving perfunctory answers to the meaningless questions his scientists asked.

 _This isn't a safe place._

That's all he could think when Ms. O summoned him up to the office to give her a second opinion on some important Management matter—he didn't bother remembering what—and to fetch her a juice box, almost dropping it because his hands were so shaky.

 _This isn't a safe place._

That's all he could think as he shoved his brand new lab coat into his locker and rode the tubes to Fourteenth Street. Not until he had shut himself up in his room, thrown on a Snuggie, and switched on his custom-built iPod would he allow himself to decide:

 _This is a safe place._

Too overcome to even bother taking off his glasses, Oscar fell onto his bed and released the pent-up rainstorm in his eyes, letting it flow free.

* * *

The next day, Ms. O watched her new adviser and the newest solo agent go about their tasks. It was obvious something was wrong.

 _They're taking it pretty hard,_ she mused, watching as a jittery Oscar scrambled back down to the lab after she dismissed him. _Wonder how long it'll be before they accept things as they've become and move on._

Ms. O had long ago put the pieces together, of course. Both Olive and Oscar clearly cared for each other a lot, but she knew from personal experience that a change as big as this could strain the relationship. _I just hope he told the truth when he said he'd finally explained things to her. The next few months could be difficult if he hasn't, and I may need to intervene._

Her eyes fell on the framed photo she had of O'Donahue on her desk. _Who am I kidding? I can't even set things right with my_ _own_ _former partner. How tacky would that look if I tried to solve my agent's personal problems while ignoring my own? No, better to let them work it out themselves. Like I can't ever seem to…do…oh no, not again…_

Another of her relapses was on its way. Spurred into action, Ms. O hopped up and dashed to the doors, quickly sealing and locking them. Then she dove behind her desk and waited for the emotional breakdown to start.

 _Twenty-nine years as of yesterday and I still haven't moved on. What in odd's name is wrong with me?_

It wasn't until she managed to remember how cute Oscar was when he got nervous that she was able to pull herself out of it, nineteen long minutes later.


	26. The Veteran

**A/N As we come to the end of Part 2, there's a couple things I want to take care of. First, I'd like to say another huge thank-you to all of you lovely readers for supporting this story, especially** **MinecraftDanny['s cousin], Aliceine, Shenokzo, Uyen Tran, Dinah, Ambidextrous Drummer, Flying Saucers, Lily, Tomboy1025, Everlynn Flame, Alpha Kratt, Sabrina Kelly, TheLivingMe, Narwhalroo32, Fanacondaal, and Perilheart for posting reviews since the beginning of Part 2.**

 **And yes, Aliceine, in addition to being my longest story at now 69,217 words, at 116 reviews this is now also my most reviewed fanfic _ever_! Seriously, guys, I reply to every single review on here that I can, which means I would love it if you all not only reviewed, but also got an account to do so! It's free and easy, and it'd be a great way for me to get to know you guys better and vise-versa.**

 **Also a special thank-you to faberthealien for following this story, as well as the rest of you who've favorited/followed it already! We're at 4,372 total views for this story so far. At this rate, you guys may even top the 7,904 views of "Olive's Last Partner" :D**

 **Thank you all so very much, you have no idea how much I appreciate the wonderful support! :D See you all on Part 3!**

* * *

The Veteran

"Welcome, one and all, to the O Games!"

The last Friday in August had arrived, and with it the age-old annual Odd Squad tradition. A general feeling of excitement pervaded the air as every Odd Squad agent chattered amongst themselves in hushed, anticipating tones about who and what this year's contestants and challenges would be. Even Olive had caught the infectious mood of the day. After nearly a month of spending her days in the Odd Squad gym and working after hours in order to avoid everyone, it was rather nice to join in the festivities for a change.

Until she saw who was ringing the bells this year. A stupid, chipper grin on his face, there stood her former partner, clad in a ridiculously large green-trimmed gold toga, reverently ringing the memory bells. Olive bowed her head like everyone else, but inside she was tense, angered. _Yet another special privilege from being Ms. O's personal adviser and favorite agent,_ she thought with no small amount of disgust.

Ochenta, the previous year's winner, was called up to the Thingieth to draw the numbers of this year's five contestants, but Olive had her eyes trained on Oscar. For the most part he was watching the selection process, though every now and then glancing at Ms. O, who was standing off to the side, to communicate with a hand or face signal. Once he glanced in Olive's direction, and she quickly looked away before he could catch her eye. _It's not polite to stare,_ she reminded herself, _not even when it's someone you loathe._ But she had seen enough. It was clear he looked to Ms. O like a little lost puppy, following her every move, never mind that—

"Agent Sixty-Three!"

Olive blinked, snapping back to attention. She had forgotten all about the actual O Games. Had her number just been called?

Ochenta held up a red ball. "Agent Olive?" she called. "That's you. You're our final contestant."

Olive opened her mouth and closed it again. A pathway had been parted through the crowd for her and every agent was watching her expectantly.

 _Am I really competing in the O Games this year?_

Almost surreally, she stepped forward and made her way to the platform, where the other four contestants—Orchid, Oz, O'Donnell, and Odell—were already waiting. Feeling all eyes on her, Olive managed a weak smile that dimmed when her sensitive ears caught Oren murmuring to Olaf and the other agents near him:

"Imagine that. Olive has to compete in the O Games the same year her former partner gets to announce it. Boy, this oughta be good," he snickered.

Olive felt a hot flush creeping up her face, but before she had time to ponder the rude remark, Ms. O had clicked the Remote-Controlinator, transporting all seven participants to the O Games Arena. Though she remembered what was going to happen from previous years watching the games, she was still shocked to discover herself standing on a marble pedestal, clad in bronze and copper armor, her corkscrew ponytail transformed into an elegant yet functional braided bun.

It was at that moment that, as she looked over at her competition likewise inspecting themselves, Olive realized something. Out of all five contestants, she was the only one who'd had an extensive background in sports. And, quite by accident, she'd just spent the last month training for this day. Meaning she actually had a fighting chance.

With that realization came another. _Since no one was left to watch when I stopped the pienado, I've never really proven myself to the rest of the squad. I've just been a follower, either Oscar's partner or Todd's tagalong. But if I win the O Games today,_ she decided, _I'll show everyone that I can stand on my own two feet._

Olive felt herself straighten up taller and hold her chin high, a gleam in her eye and a determined grin on her face.

 _Let's go._

* * *

xxx

* * *

"—and the rest," Otto jumped in, "is history."

Olive smiled. "I won, yes. O'Donnell was eliminated after the 500-meter pudding toss when she kept splattering pudding everywhere while trying to throw. Then again, we were _all_ splattering pudding everywhere and on each other."

"I got pictures, too," Oscar added with a wink.

Giving him a playful punch in the arm, Olive stuck her tongue out at him (which made both Otto and Oscar laugh, much to her annoyance) and went on. "The next event was curling, so Ms. O put us in teams of two for that one. Oz and I got the most shots, and Orchid and Odell were both eliminated since they kept arguing with each other instead of competing. So then for the final event, Oz and I went head-to-head in Invisible Tug-of-War."

Otto frowned. "Wait, but how did that work? Wasn't _he_ invisible by then?"

Olive gave Oscar a meaningful glance, and he looked away sheepishly. "No, not yet," Olive answered, her expression thoughtful. "But I suppose you could say Oscar piqued his interest in the Invisible-inator gadget—"

"It's not my fault Oz loved all of my gadgets!" Oscar protested. Seeing Otto's confusion, he explained, "The rope he and Olive used for Invisible Tug-Of-War hadn't been turned invisible yet, because I'd only just invented the gadget the day before. Ms. O wanted me to show it off by turning the rope invisible right before the event started. And after the games, while Olive was Ms. O for the day, Oz came to the lab and checked out the gadget so he'd have it 'just in case'. I didn't know he got his gadgets all mixed up!"

"Whoa, whoa! Steady, Oscar!" Olive laughed, putting a kindly hand on his shoulder. "You're right, it's not your fault. Plus, Oz likes being invisible now, remember?"

Oscar smiled with relief. "Oh yeah, heh, I forgot."

As the two of them shared their moment, Otto couldn't help watching with a few mixed feelings. His initial shock and anger had long since faded after hearing their tumultuous tale; remembering how irritated Olive had always acted around Oscar in his first eight months at Odd Squad, Otto found himself more than a little awed at how much things had changed for them over the past few years. But at the same time, he couldn't help feeling a bit of resentment towards his friends. Olive was _his_ partner, after all, and possibly the closest friend he'd ever had—though lately he'd come to see her as more of an older sister—so the idea of sharing her wasn't all that appealing. Even if it was with another good friend. Mentally Otto cringed. He had to stop thinking about this. "So, when do I come in the story?" he asked.

"Oh! Right." Their moment interrupted, Olive composed herself and turned back to Otto. "Like I was saying, I think the O Games was really a turning point for me. I started working during regular hours again, instead of hiding, and I finally felt confident of myself and my ability to solve cases. Other agents began to see me for who I really was."

"They also saw how serious you'd gotten," Oscar pointed out.

"Yeah, like you left me any choice," Olive retorted. Then the smile faded from her face, and Otto thought she looked kind of sad. "It's true, though. Otto, you always said I'm so serious, and…well, between Todd and my feud with Oscar, there's your reason. It's because of having you as a partner that I ever loosened up at all." She sighed. "I don't really like thinking about those four months alone."

This time it was Oscar's turn to pat her on the shoulder. "Me neither, heh." He looked up at Otto and picked up the story. "Anyhow, after the O Games, I couldn't help watching Olive. She did look more confident, the most I'd ever seen her, and she made more friends. Everything I'd seen in her when I first met her had come true. But every day, I missed her more than ever…"

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Whatcha working on, Oscar?"

The scientist glanced up at the squad's newest Tube Operator. "Oh, hey there, O'Malley!" Oscar set down the gadget he was building and explained, "It's supposed to turn tropical fruit into farm animals. Haven't given it a name yet, though, since I got interrupted when Agent Oz turned on a Black-Hole-inator in Ms. O's office and I had to go fix it, heh."

O'Malley stepped forward inquisitively and peered at the gadget. "Hmm. Is it supposed to look like a goat?"

"A what?"

He picked it up and hefted it, and the gadget made a weird noise. "What about sound like a goat? Or feel like a goat?"

"Well, I—sure?"

O'Malley gave him a look, then thrust the gadget under Oscar's nose. "Then why does it smell like coconuts?"

Oscar sniffed it. "W-well, I mean, a coconut _is_ a tropical fruit. So there's n-nothing wrong with that, haha!"

"Hmm." A little disinterested, O'Malley set the gadget down and picked up a nearby jar of yellowish pills. "And what are these?"

"Oh, those! They're a pill you can take and it'll turn into whatever food you want in your mouth! See, I read _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ a few weeks ago, and I thought it would be a great idea to invent a pill similar to the chewing gum that Willy Wonka has. Except, y'know, without turning anyone into a blueberry. Plus, with Thanksgiving coming up this Monday—"

"Cool! Can I try one?"

Oscar stopped and furrowed his brow. "Mm, I dunno. There's only twelve pills left, and I don't really want to waste them because I haven't given one to Ms. O to try yet—"

"No, there's not," O'Malley interrupted, peering into the jar. "There's only eight left, see?"

"Really?" Oscar took the jar from him and counted. "Huh, sure enough," he muttered, puzzled. "That's funny, I could've sworn I counted them this morning and there were twelve…I _did_ count them before helping Maintenance change out the water in the heating pipes for orange juice, now didn't I…?"

By the time he looked up again, O'Malley had already wandered off, probably to start his next shift. With a shrug, Oscar set down the jar and focused his attention on his gadget again.

And that's when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her.

She was standing by the ball room with two much older agents, Oda and Odalis, laughing about something funny one of them had said. Though the three of them were all the way across the foyer, Oscar could tell that she was, for the first time since August, truly happy. Her face would glow in a way that could light up any room, her cheeks would turn rosy, and her gorgeous golden-brown eyes would squint a little but not enough to hide their twinkle. The perfect recall made him suddenly sad, with an overwhelming sense of longing.

 _Stop it, Oscar. It's been two months. You're not getting her back, and that's that. Now get back to work before Ms. O finds you being lazy and makes you come in on Thanksgiving Day._ Heaving a heavy sigh, Oscar tried to push Olive out of his mind and focus on his new gadget.

Which meant he didn't see Octavia and Oz, both covered in feathers, run down the stairs and over to their desks. He didn't see them brush each other off and throw the feathers in a nearby wastebasket. He didn't see Oz deftly throw an arm around his partner's shoulder and wink at her, or hear Octavia's giggle as she gave him a peck on the forehead. He didn't see their blushes as they pulled apart and briskly walked towards the Tube Lobby, discreetly holding hands.

He didn't know that was the last time anyone at Odd Squad would ever see Agent Oz.

Neither did Octavia and Oz know that, in just a few short hours, their carefree and open relationship with each other would change forever.

* * *

Thanksgiving Day came and went. Halloween Night came and went. Remembrance Day came and went. Pretty soon October and November had flown by, and after what seemed an eon to Olive, the first day of December 2013 rolled around. Because it was a Sunday, Ms. O set out a sign-up sheet for agents to volunteer to put up Christmas decorations that day, instead of making it required like she normally did. To their credit, most of the squad signed up, anyhow. Olive was one of these agents. So were Oda and Odalis.

So was Oscar.

Olive had to admit she'd winced upon seeing his name on the sheet. Nevertheless she tried to convince herself that she was over him. Oscar was just another agent at Odd Squad, just another co-worker. Any feelings she'd had were long since faded and gone. Right?

 _Oh, who am I kidding?_ she thought after bristling at the sight of him dragging a gigantic Christmas tree up the stairs, hurrying to keep up with Ms. O. _I can't say I don't have any feelings if I'm still going to get angry at the sight of him._

She glanced over at her desk, where four little yellow pills were hidden in a small drawer compartment. _Or if I'm going to take something he made and keep it for myself._ Even that thought made her angry all over again, so Olive shook her head and focused back on her task—which was balancing herself on a tall stepladder while hanging a garland above the South Control Room. "How're you doing on your end, Oda?" she called, trying to ignore how much her arms were beginning to hurt.

"Almost done…got it!" Brushing her hands together, the little mouse of a girl clambered down her own stepladder and rushed over to where Odalis was holding Olive's to keep it steady. "Here, I'll toss it up! Catch!"

Reaching down a hand, Olive caught the airborne spool of metal wiring with ease, subsequently managing to unwind a strand and tie it to the garland with only one hand. That done, she looped the wire around an iron beam and secured it with a knot, then dropped her tired arms and slid down the ladder. "Phew, finally done!" she remarked, admiring their handiwork.

"Yeah, a gazillion feet of scratchy evergreen garland later," Odalis added, making the girls laugh. It was true, though: hanging holiday garland all along the foyer balcony had been no easy task. It was times like these when Olive really felt lucky to have two good friends like Oda and Odalis. After winning the O Games three months ago, they had been the first ones to congratulate and get to know her the most, and it had been them who'd really helped pull her out of her slump. Sometimes Oda took her down to Club 24 for a girl's night out after work, other times Odalis shot hoops with her down in the gym, and often times the three of them would help each other out on each of their assigned cases. As the weeks went by, Olive grew closer to them, but not once did she ever open up about her struggles with Todd or with Oscar. Yet somehow, she sensed Oda and Odalis understood. Somehow they knew all she needed were a couple someones to help her cope with her newfound loneliness. And for the first time since joining Odd Squad, she understood what it meant to have friends. Not partners, not manipulators, not crushes, just friends.

Before she could ponder it any further, however, her reverie was interrupted by a loud holler of, "AGENT OLIVE! IN MY OFFICE! _NOW!_ "

Olive looked at Oda and Odalis in bemusement. "A case? On a volunteer day?"

Her friends shrugged. "Maybe it's something else," Oda suggested.

"Could be," Odalis agreed. "Go on ahead and see what the boss wants. Oda and I can put away the stepladders ourselves."

"You sure?" Olive asked skeptically. "They're pretty heavy."

"It's fine," Oda reassured her. "We're just taking them back down to the Boiler Rooms. No big deal."

Now it was Olive's turn to shrug. "Okay, if you say so." Leaving her friends to drag the ladders away, she briskly headed towards the stairs, no less bemused. _What could Ms. O possibly want me for when it's not an official work day?_ she wondered. _Or when most of the Christmas decorations have already been put up?_

Then the worst possible scenario occurred to her. _Oh, no. Does it have anything to do with Oscar…?_

* * *

Naturally, with all these questions circling through her mind, the very last thing Olive expected to see when she sat down in the octagon chair was a photo of a recruit boy who clearly did not know how to take a picture. "Who's this?" Olive asked, curling her lip a little as she looked back up at Ms. O.

The boss gave her a genuine smile. "Your new partner."


	27. Part 3: Red Ships

X X X

* * *

 **Part 3: All the Ships**

 ** _2013-2015_**

* * *

X X X

* * *

 _Selected_ Featured Episodes and Stories:

"Reindeer Games"

"Zero Effect"

"Best Seats in the House"

"The One that Got Away"

"Olive's Last Partner"

"Odd Outbreak"

"Skip Day"

"The O Games"

"The Curious Case of Pirate-itis"

"Trading Places"

"All Mixed Up!"

"Captain Fun"

"Moustache Confidential"

"Trials and Tubulations"

"Worst First Day Ever"

"Undercover Olive"

"Disorder in the Court"

"Jinx"


	28. The Newbie

**A/N So yesterday, as I was finishing this up, I had one of those moments where it sank in that I only have less than six weeks until OINFO airs to finish this story.**

 **Well, sh[do no odd!]t.**

 **Eh, we'll see what I can do. Anyhow, another little DISCLAIMER here concerning Part 3** **—the events concerning Olive's and Oscar's reconciliation will be roughly chronological, but practically _everything else_ is going to take place quite a bit out of order; i.e. there will be a lot of backtracking and flashing forward, so some later chapters may take place before other earlier ones. If that's too confusing for you, just basically know this: after a certain point, most of the chapters in Part 3 are going to be like standalone stories within a story. That's why it's called _Ships Ahoy_ —'cuz there's tons of ships! #badumCHHH #imaginethat**

The Newbie

"…and you know the rest," Olive concluded.

Suddenly they heard a sound from the workshop like someone clearing their throat. The trio turned their heads to find Odenbacker standing at the counter, holding three brand-new badges labeled 56, 63, and 70. "All done, just like you wanted. And I better not have to remake these anytime soon," he admonished in a surly voice.

"No no, they're perfect, heh!" Oscar assured the mechanic, taking the three badges. After clipping his own on, he passed the other two to a relieved Olive and Otto.

"Even better than the last one!" Otto agreed, fastening his badge into place with a contented sigh.

"Thank you for all your hard work, sir," Olive chimed in, nodding at Odenbacker.

"Anytime," he said, rolling his eyes but with a small proud smile, waving as the trio started back up to HQ.

But as they left the warehouse, something occurred to Oscar. "Now hold on a minute. Otto may know our whole story now, but I've never gotten to hear about what Otto's first day was like!"

Olive snapped her fingers as she too remembered. "That's right, you were sick that day." She glanced at her partner, who looked deep in thought. "Otto? You wanna take this one or me?"

Otto blinked and grinned, clearly with something in mind. "Oh, I'll tell the story," he replied, "but on one condition. Your guys' isn't done yet. I mean, you had to make up _sometime_ , right?"

"Okay, fine," Olive agreed, exchanging a wink with Oscar. "We'll tell you about what happened in the Boiler Room last summer…"

"…but only if _you_ tell _us_ about everything between you and Dr. O," Oscar finished, mirroring Otto's grin.

" _What?_ " Indignant, Otto threw out his arms in a _why_ gesture. "That's not how conditions work. You can't make one _back!_ "

Olive shrugged and smiled coyly at him. "I guess you won't hear our story, then."

Otto shot her a snarky look, then groaned. "Okay, _fine_. But I get to make another condition that we tell everything in the order it happened, like on a timeline."

"So chronologically?" Oscar asked, raising an eyebrow. "So your story about _my_ first partner can go last?"

Before Otto could protest, Olive held up a hand. "Alright, Oscar, that's enough. He's got a fair point. Now partner," she addressed Otto, "you can start with how you joined."

* * *

xxx

* * *

If you were to approach any average Odd Squad agent and ask them how they joined, the answers would all be the same: through the Odd Squad Academy. With recruiters scouting the world and kids signing up to take the admissions exams at their first opportunity, the Academy is by far the easiest way to get in. So much so, that most people—indeed, even most agents—still assume the Academy is the _only_ way to get in.

Not so for a certain nine-year-old boy by the name of Otto.

In fact, no one, not even Otto himself, saw it coming. Since preschool, he had been every teacher's worst nightmare: easily distracted, lacking in focus and concentration, rather hyperactive, prone to bursting out in fits of song and dance, not to mention a little too fond of sneaking food from the cafeteria. Constantly being reprimanded for not paying attention to the teachers, failing basic assignments (except for the unscrambling worksheets in English class), or just in general "acting up", Otto was always quick to apologize and make promises to try harder in class. Yet he could never quite seem to bring himself to do it. When asked why he wouldn't, the only replies were, "I dunno, I just don't see what worksheets and whiteboards have to do with life!" or, "What's wrong with music and food? Don't people need them?" Worse, he was clearly not trying to be malicious or disrespectful, and no one could find the heart to try dishing out any harsh punishments to such an earnest, albeit bothersome, young student.

The school tried everything. Every teacher who had ever had Otto in class sent in email after email citing evidence, yet the doctor stoutly refused to diagnose him with ADHD. Tutor after tutor was called in to instruct the boy, but none of them were any more successful than the teachers. (If anything, it only made the boy more nervous around authority.) Even Otto's best friend Tommy Banfield, the smartest kid in the class, was asked to serve as a sort of peer instructor, but Tommy could never explain anything in a way that would captivate his friend's interest, or at least convince him to listen. By the time Otto hit fourth grade, everyone resigned themselves to the fact that he was just going to end up as another of those lost-cause students.

Until the Gifted Educator got to him, and brought to the principal an IQ score of 140.

Staggered by such a high number from the least promising of students, Principal Botter called an emergency staff meeting that Saturday afternoon. The fact of the matter was, if the school couldn't figure out a way to educate their brightest pupil, the risk of unwanted public disgrace and funding loss further down the road was too great. So what was there to do?

Quite by accident, the principal's own daughter provided the answer. Six years old and quietly doing her homework—which happened to be filling out an alphabet sheet of children's names—in the corner of the meeting room, having been dragged along instead of left home alone, the first grader chose that moment to get up and ask her mother a question. "Mommy, I'm s'posed to name a person that starts with O. Who was the Odd Squad girl that fixed your bitter butter yesterday?"

It was as if lightbulbs simultaneously flicked on above every head in the room. Principal Botter beamed at her daughter and hurriedly muttered, "Olive, honey. Her name was Olive. O-L-I-V-silent E." She turned back to her employees. "Someone get the office phone and a laptop. We've got calls to make and a résumé to write up."

The following Monday morning, as the other fourth graders pulled on their winter coats and rushed off the bus into the bitter cold, the driver stopped Otto on his way out. "Hold it, kid," he drawled. "This ain't yore stop no more."

Otto blinked, unsure if he'd heard right. "But…this is my school."

"Not no more, it ain't. They dropped yore enrollment yesterday, kid." At Otto's look of alarm, the bus driver laughed. "Don' worry, they got it all taken care of wi' yore folks. Imma take you someplace else. Now lookie here." He pulled out a bundle of clothing and thrust it at the boy. "Put this on 'fore yah get out. They won't letcha in 'less yah got y'self the right uniform."

Utterly bewildered, Otto more or less fell back into the nearest seat and unrolled the bundle with trembling hands. There was a grey long-sleeved T-shirt, navy sweatpants, grey socks, and black converse, but it was the sight of the official Odd Squad seal on the front of each clothing item that made him stop cold.

 _The school's sending me to Odd Squad? But I thought only…_

And that's when it hit him. With a hesitant but broad grin he allowed himself to wonder, _Does this mean I'm not so dumb, after all?_

* * *

As Ms. O watched a clearly shell-shocked Olive leave her office, she couldn't help feeling a little pleased with herself. Reaching back across the desk, she grabbed Otto's hastily thrown-together résumé file and perused it again. _Let's see…easily distracted and hyperactive, doesn't like learning in school, loves music and food, terrible at taking school photos, well-liked by other students for his constant jokes… If nothing else, this Otto would sure pass the empathy test_ , she thought with a smile. _For one, he's definitely the type to open a Centigurp containment unit. Just like I did back in the day…_

Her smile faded. _Back in the day…_

* * *

 _She could see herself now, standing in the center of Main Street in the fall of 1870. Watching in horror as all one hundred Centigurps burst out of the open container in her hands to disappear all over town. Frantically running to find O'Donahue and admit what had happened. Her partner chuckling and assuring her she was supposed to do that: "It's a test Old Missie created to see how compassionate you are. Odd Squad agents can't be heartless case-solvers, after all."_

 _"Really? How do you know?"_

 _"Well…let's just say Olga got a nasty surprise when she tried to tattle on me for doing the same thing my first year. Now come on, I'll help you find them all."_

* * *

Ms. O blinked and drew in a sharp breath. Rapidly shaking her head, she rubbed her glistening eyes and focused back on the comments. _If only his teachers had known what the first part indicated. A true Odd Squad agent must be able to prove their learning by having a use for it in the field, not by showing it on any old worksheet. He's got that natural gift, alright._

 _Olive will be good for him._

Recalling what she'd seen in the Imagine-What-It-Would've-Been-Like-Inator, Ms. O mentally added, _And he'll be good for Olive, too. It's not every day two kids complement each other's strengths like that. Good thing I didn't partner them with Owen and Oksana. Owen's three-year period is up anyhow, and Oksana clearly isn't fit to come back to Investigation after Agent Ocean's corruption. Besides, the last thing Olive needs right now is a serious partner. If his teachers are right, Otto will help her warm back up again._

 _Now all he's gotta do is prove he doesn't need an Academy background to be one of us._

 _Just like I did back in the day…_

* * *

A week went by.

Late in the morning on December 9th, Olive found herself pacing through the Hall of Doors nervously. Her new partner was supposed to come out of his week in the Training Room any minute now, so that Olive could give him the tour and allow him to become a full agent. So what was taking so long?

For what must've been the umpteenth time, Olive checked her watch and sighed. _A watched pot never boils,_ she had to remind herself. But how else what she going to know if she'd like her new partner or not? _I mean, with a picture like that it's kinda hard to tell. Gosh, I wonder if this is what Oscar felt like when I was his new—_

 _Alright now, Olive. You can stop right there. He doesn't care about anyone but Ms. O, I've already established that—_

Before she could finish the thought, there was a _click_ from the other side of the door, and out tumbled a tall, dark-haired, latte-skinned boy in sweats and a grey T-shirt. "Himyname'sOttowhat'syours?" he said, sticking out a hand and beaming like a puppy on Christmas morning.

Olive was speechless, startled by his sudden abruptness. "U-u-um…Olive. My name is Agent Olive," she managed, taking his outstretched hand and stiffly shaking it. "I take it you're Otto, my new partner?"

Otto's already wide eyes inflated to the size of grapefruits. "You're Olive? _The_ Agent Olive? Omigod, you're like the best Odd Squad agent in town! And I get to be your _partner?!_ I didn't even know you had an opening!" He fell back against the wall, ecstatic. "I don't believe it. I'm gonna be Agent Olive's partner. Me!"

"Wait, what?" Olive shook her head, sure she'd heard wrong. "You know who I am?"

"Well, duh!" Otto laughed. "Literally _everyone_ knows who you are! You've solved all the toughest cases for some people, and my friends and I read all about them in _The Daily Rag…_ "

As Otto yammered on, Olive tried to process what she'd just heard. Could it be true? Did all the townspeople really think she was that good of an agent, all on her own? Without Oscar and Todd hovering near? Had all her hard work really paid off?

"Okay, okay! Fine, I believe you!" she cut him off, stifling a grin. "So, you know everything about me, huh?"

"Well…" Otto took a sudden interest in his black converse shoes as he scuffed them across the floor. "No, not really. I just know what you've done—not, y'know, who you are." He looked back up at her hopefully. "But I guess that's what being partners is for, right?"

His earnest expression was what did it, and Olive decided right then and there she was going to like Otto. "You got that right," she replied, allowing a small smile. "Now let's go. I've got a tour to give you if you're gonna get your badge at all." With that she marched off, her soon-to-be partner falling into step behind her.

A few minutes later, Olive couldn't help but feel her heart warm at the sight of Otto standing on the official seal in the center of the foyer floor, gazing awestruck all around the Christmas-bedecked headquarters. "I still can't believe it," he kept saying, almost deliriously. "This place is so…so _amazing!_ How do you guys not just stare at this all day?"

"Believe it or not, you get used to it all. Plus, slides and ball pits and climbing walls and sandboxes are for playing on, not staring at," Olive remarked, pointing at the sandbox. "See, look at Agent Orchid over there."

Otto followed her gaze. Sure enough, the recently partnerless Orchid was happily building a fortress for her toy dinosaurs. At the sight of Olive pointing the little girl looked up and wrinkled her nose. "Who's that?"

"This is Otto," Olive explained. "He's going to be my new—"

"Like Otto Ophthalmosaurus?"

Otto furrowed his brow. " _Who?_ "

"Um, never mind. That's the name of one of her dinosaurs." Olive reached up and took him by the shoulder. "Come on, we've got a tour to finish. First up is the la—"

She stopped. _Oh, no._

 _The lab._

 _Oscar._

 _I have to introduce him to Oscar?_

Barely able to breathe, Olive peered over the double staircase and scanned the room, but there was no sign of Oscar. _Maybe he's sick today,_ she hoped, beginning to relax. "Um, first up is the lab, over here. This is where you'll check out all your gadgets for solving cases…"

Luckily for Olive, she was right about Oscar calling in sick that day. Without her having to see him and make up some excuse, the tour went smoothly. Otto got his uniform and his badge, then immediately begged Olive to take him to see the fabled Math Room for the first time. Even when he freaked out at her mention of Odd Squad traditions ("You guys don't give swirlies to newbies, do you?" he'd gulped), or when he frantically made her give him a crash course on every Academy Training Video ever at the sound of Ms. O shouting from her podium ("No, I never went to the Academy, I just got thrown into this! But I learn fast, I promise!" "That still doesn't mean you don't need an Odd Squad manual. I'm still getting you one tomorrow."), Olive's initial good opinion of Otto never wavered. That is, until she watched him decorate his desk, and realized he was a devout fan of Soundcheck. _Never mind_ , she told herself. _Putting up with a partner who fangirls over a stupid boy band is better than having no partner at all._

 _Or a partner who leaves you for a lab coat._


	29. The Rejected

**A/N Fun fact: part 3 was originally supposed to be called "All the Ships", but I changed my mind when I realized there'd be a brief part 4.**

 **Warning: this is one of the sadder chapters I've written, I think. Also we've got some stuff from "The Queer" returning, so sorry if that's not your cup of tea.**

The Rejected

Christmas Eve was here before anyone knew it. Odd Squad still had work, of course, but the atmosphere at headquarters was buzzing with anticipation for the upcoming holiday. Agent Otto, brand-new to the squad and still not quite ten years old, was probably the friskiest. Impatient for the holiday to begin, he couldn't understand how his partner could be such a workaholic as not to even stop and smell the candy canes—until he spotted Santa Claus himself in the lab, realized just why Odd Squad went to work on Christmas Eve, and suddenly loved his job even more.

And in fact, behind her cool facade, Olive was just as excited for both the festivities and whatever important role she might play in helping Christmas of 2013 to be the best yet. (Which, as everyone knows, turned out to be finding and regrowing nine tiny reindeer and delivering presents with Big Red himself.) Not even the mention—and thankfully not the appearance—of Oscar was enough to dampen her spirits as Santa shrank the spaghetti bike and slipped it into his sack. No, even when she later noticed him going to great pains to help Ms. O get back on the nice list, Olive refused to allow herself to feel any less than the true Christmas Spirit. Just as every single other agent on Odd Squad was filled with it right now.

Every agent, that is, except for Agent Oz.

Since his accident on October 11, Oz absolutely hated holidays. All they did was remind him just how invisible he was—both literally and figuratively.

First of all, since he'd invited her family over the year before, it had been Octavia's year to host Thanksgiving dinner. Which meant she had to admit to her family that her partner and lifelong best friend had "…um…changed…" Needless to say, the entire meal was made awkward when the grownups kept starting at his disembodied voice, attempting to hand him plates of food and missing his hands entirely, and in general forgetting he was even there. And although Octavia staunchly denied it, Oz could tell she was embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

Halloween was even worse. Due to complications arising from _how_ he'd become invisible (and because he refused to wear a bedsheet), Oz decided to go trick-or-treating without a costume. Big mistake. Octavia kept having to explain to every homeowner that yes, there was an invisible person holding the floating candy bag and yes, that's where the mysterious voice was coming from. Ten houses in, Octavia asked Oz if it'd be alright for her to go home and change into her other costume, instead of her Odd Squad uniform that she'd worn for his sake. Oz agreed to wait for her, but eventually gave up when the better part of an hour passed and she didn't return. Instead, he spent the rest of the night attempting to trick-or-treat by himself, ringing doorbells and holding out his bag, only to undergo the following exchange a gazillion times over: "Trick or treat!" "Is anyone there?" "Trick or treat!" "Hello? Is anyone there?" "TRICK OR TREAT!" "Hello? Is anyone…" which concluded when the person shrugged and shut the door. Every. Single. Time.

(It was only later he found out from Oscar that Octavia hadn't bailed on him, but had accidentally locked herself in the attic and spent the night trapped there, unable to call for help. Which didn't make Oz feel any better—after all, how come she hadn't told him herself?)

So now that it was almost Christmas, Oz wasn't exactly the most optimistic person in headquarters. Back on the day of the accident, Octavia had sworn up and down his invisibility wouldn't change a decade's worth of the relationship they had created, insisting he would always be her own dear Oz. Yet over the past ten and a half weeks, he had noticed several signs seeming to point toward the opposite. Her eyes and body language were more distant than he'd ever seen from her, and she acted much more absent-minded than he'd ever known her to be. But only, Oz was convinced, if she knew he was close by. It didn't help that his permanent invisibility was such an advantage for certain cases, and he kept getting assigned solo missions that dragged him away from his partner more and more often.

It was one of these cases he was returning from when he noticed Ms. O standing with Oscar by the Christmas tree, both of them speaking to each other while eyeing Octavia doing file work at her desk. As the two of them approached her, Oz quietly inched forward until he was standing only a few feet away. Something told him the coming exchange was not one he was meant to be privy to.

Although right away, he almost blew his cover when Ms. O suddenly shouted, "OCTAVIA! ! !" at the top of her lungs, startling Oz and nearly knocking him into the adjacent desk. He then quickly had to hop backward as poor Octavia accidentally flung papers everywhere and one nearly flew into his face, but recovered just in time to hear his partner jump to the conclusion she was fired and stand up to begin packing her things.

Before Oz could even react, Ms. O quickly stopped her with, "No! I just came by to say I, um, uh…uhh…think you're great!"

Octavia stopped and stared down at her, a loose strand of hair hanging in front of her suddenly misty eyes. "Really? …That means so much to me."

Watching her genuine, if slightly bemused, smile break forth was enough to send a pang through Oz's heart, but it wasn't over yet. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Oscar, standing to the side, mime behind Octavia's back for Ms. O to hug her, to which the boss hesitantly complied. Instantly Octavia's smile brightened into an all-out grin. "I didn't know you were a hugger!"

"Well I wouldn't say I'm a—"

"Bring it in!" With that, Octavia threw her arms around Ms. O in a warm embrace, ignoring her muffled "Ow…" Caught up in the moment, Oscar likewise threw his arms around both of them with an "I love Christmas!" and Octavia made a squealing, giggling noise of joy.

While Oz stood not three feet away, watching the threesome wistfully.

 _She used to hug me like that,_ he thought, turning away and trudging off. _Where did she go, and why can't I find her anymore?_

* * *

At last, Oren had decided enough was enough.

Eighteen months later, after it had first been brought up, there was no closet, and trying it out had not worked. He was just going to have to suck it up and tell Olaf the answer was no.

If only it was as simple as it sounded.

 _But it_ _will_ _be simple,_ Oren tried to reassure himself. _I'll just go up to him and say…and say…say…_ He sighed. _Okay fine, it's not that simple at all. I'll just have to figure out some sort of plan when I get there._

The fact was, Oren was pretty sure Olaf was convinced of exactly the opposite. Back in early January 2014, after supposedly winning the Blob-catching contest against Olive and her new partner Otto only to get sent on a mission from the black lagoon, Olaf made it pretty clear he wouldn't mind a bit being alone with Oren for an entire month. Oren had merely smirked and shrugged before going back to the daunting task of blob-counting, but internally he was more than a little uncomfortable with what Olaf had meant by that. Later, upon their return from Blobsylvania, the two of them resumed their ribbon-twirling practices for the upcoming Odd Squad Talent Show. But no matter how much he relished imagining the audience mesmerized by their hypnotic movements, Oren couldn't shake the feeling Olaf was enjoying standing back-to-back with him a little too much.

On the flip side, Oren had to admit there were some perks to having a partner with a crush on him. When he ran for Captain Fun earlier in April, Olaf was behind him every step of the way—voting for him, cheering on his burger flipping, even giving away free ice cream to unfairly bribe for agents' votes. The problem was that Olaf wasn't like other agents. Olaf was his partner and a good friend, not just any other Odd Squad agent to exploit or torment like Olive and Otto. Which meant it was unfair of Oren to use his partner for his own benefit any longer.

So today was the day Oren decided to give Olaf his final answer.

If only he wasn't secretly worried about what this was going to mean for the friendship he didn't want to lose.

* * *

"Octavia, we need to have a talk."

"Huh?" Octavia set down the Centigurp containment unit and perched on the end of the Storage Room table, trying to peer in the direction of her partner's disembodied voice. They had both finished rounding up the Centigurps that Octavia had let out (again) and were just putting the unit away for good. "Where are you?"

"Over by the door. Here, we need some privacy." The door to the Storage Room suddenly swung shut, and she felt a small whoosh of air to her right. "Now I'm sitting on the table beside you," Oz said.

"I know, I felt it." Octavia mustered an awkward smile. "So what's up? Is it about me letting out the Centigurps a second time?"

"No, that's not it. It's…" She heard something that sounded like a sigh. "I just…Octavia, what happened between the two of us?"

Silence.

Confused and yet all too understanding, Octavia frowned and cocked her head. "Wh-what do you mean, what happened? We're still partners, aren't we?"

"No, you're missing my point." He suddenly grabbed her hand with his own trembling one. "Octavia, we've been best friends since _before we were born._ We've been growing up together, even before we joined Odd Squad! And after we did…" there was a small silence, "…I—I thought we'd maybe had something more."

 _Oh…oh, Oz…_ Octavia bit her lip, wishing she could read his face right then. "Well, um, who says we don't still?" she said a little too quickly, drawing her hand back a little. "Who says there's anything between us at all—?"

"Oh, come _on!_ " Just like that Oz jerked his hand away. He sounded angry. "You mean you haven't noticed? Ever since I turned invisible you've been distancing yourself from me!"

"That's not true!" she protested. "You being invisible doesn't change a thing—"

"But it has." Oz sounded calmer now, and that scared Octavia. "Admit it, it's changed everything. You can't see me, you don't know me, I'm not the same Oz. Not to you, not anymore."

Octavia opened her mouth to tell him he was wrong, but the words didn't come. A little nagging voice in the back of her head was telling her how he was right, that Oz had gotten sadder, closed himself off, it was his fault she'd had to pull away. She tried to tell it to shut up, without much success. "Oz…Oz, I—" she stopped and looked away guiltily, quiet again.

Oz was quiet, too. There was only the sound of his shuddering breaths, and a rustle of clothing told Octavia he had moved away from her a little. "Look," he finally said, his voice cracking, "we're still partners. That'll never change. But the two of us…the two of…" he trailed off, and she thought she heard a sniffle. "If…if you don't…don't want to…you know…"

 _He's going to leave,_ Octavia suddenly realized. _He wants me to prove his suspicions wrong, or he's going to leave. I have to prove him wrong. Don't I?_

Sure enough, she heard another rustle and the sound of shoes hitting the floor. "Okay, it's alright. I know what your answer is. Just know—that…the—the years I've spent with you were the best of my life. And…I-I-I hope you…find someone…who makes you that—makes you happy."

The door opened. Footsteps faded down the hall.

 _What are you doing, Octavia? You have to go after him! Tell him he's wrong! Tell him you do still care!_ But Octavia couldn't move. She stared at the single tear dripped onto the table. Her eyes weren't wet. Her hand wasn't shaking. Her breaths weren't shuddering. Her voice wasn't breaking, not really. And worst of all, nowhere in her heart could she find what she used to have for him, what Oz wanted again so badly. She was sad, yes, but for all the wrong reasons.

He was right. She _had_ chosen to pull away.

 _I need to talk to someone about this,_ she thought guiltily. _Problem is, my closest friend just walked out the door._

* * *

"…and…well, uh, yeah! That's basically it. Yep." Oren cleared his throat, clearly not used to being this honest with anyone. "I mean, we're still friends, right?"

Of course, that was the _last_ thing Olaf wanted to hear at the moment, on top of everything else. But he quickly put away the sad puppy dog eyes and put on a big smile. "Friends!" he repeated with a nod, holding up his potato. "Like friends with potato!"

"Yes, like friends with potato," Oren said with a relieved laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. "Thanks, Olaf. I'm so glad you understand." And with that he turned and sauntered away to the Tube Lobby, calling over his shoulder, "I'll see you tomorrow!"

Olaf waved as his partner headed home for the evening. Then as soon as Oren was out of sight, he bolted to the Hall of Doors.

A few minutes later, safe inside the Potato Room, Olaf was hanging upside-down from the tree above the recorders, clutching the Upside-Downinator in one hand and nibbling a Shrinking Potato with the other. The water droplets hitting the grass below slowly got smaller and smaller, glistening in the dying light of day.

Underwater tennis lessons were cancelled the next morning.


	30. The Cynic and the Jaded

**A/N Discovered another Odd Squad fan in my own school yesterday! So that's put me in a good mood for the weekend (that and a full twelve hours of sleep last night lol). I also made a writing schedule for myself, and if everything goes to plan, the updates will be coming quite frequently from here on out. Fingers crossed!**

The Cynic and the Jaded

"So how's the top-secret mission going?" Dr. O asked without turning away from the X-rays she was examining.

"Oh, pretty good, heh." Utterly drained of adrenaline, Oscar collapsed into his usual seat opposite his friend's desk. "Ms. O flew outta here about twenty minutes ago to rendezvous with Octavia and the Ambassador, so we're almost done."

Dr. O shot him a sidelong look. "I thought the mission was top-secret. You sure you were allowed to tell me all that?"

"You're the one that asked!"

"Fair enough." Setting down her X-rays, she turned to face him for the first time—and gaped. "You got another haircut!"

Oscar made a face, touching a hand to his damp and tousled mop. "Yeah, a little sooner than I wanted, but yeah. Had to for the mission. Long story."

"You don't like it."

"No, it isn't that! It's just…Agent Odie, the Lab Director in Vancouver's squad, he's, um, onto me about copying his hair designs. And he just so happened to get his hair cut like this recently, so if he finds out I copied him again…I mean, not that it was on purpose, but y'know…" He shrugged. "I do kinda like it this way, heh, but just to be safe, I think I'll have Mom do it up the other way sometimes."

Dr. O nodded, hiding a smile. "Well, _I_ like _this_ one. It looks normal again, like when we first joined the squad."

Oscar wasn't sure whether she was intentionally making fun of him or not, so he didn't ask. "Been awhile since we've been able to chat like this, heh," he said, changing the subject.

"Yes, it has." She sat down at her desk and gave him another pointed look. "The last time you came in here to talk was before your promotion."

 _Oh no. She went there._ "Yeeeaaaaaahhh…" Oscar cringed.

"How bad are things between you two?"

"On your pain scale? Probably an eight or a nine."

"Ha, ha. If you're going to use the medical pain scale, does that make it better or worse than the Polish bee that stung you on the lip after the O Games?"

Oscar had to laugh. On those rare occasions when she wanted to be, Dr. O could be the funniest and most sarcastic agent on the squad. "Sure, why not? Heh, six weeks in lip rehab with some little green eight-year-old, and only able to speak Polish until I got back and invented a gadget to fix it? Yeah, I'd call that maybe an eight or a nine, too." Then he got serious again. "No, but you were right. I should've just told her the truth a long time ago. Too late now."

"Why can't you?"

"She won't go anywhere near me, let alone talk to me." He sighed and pulled out a web printout from his lab coat. "I mean, the other day I tried moving on, for once."

Dr. O frowned at the paper. "Is that what I think it is?" When Oscar didn't answer, she reached over and pulled it out of his hands. "Oh, no," she groaned as she scanned the printout. "You did one of these?"

 _ **FETCH YOUR PARTNER!**_ **THE ONLINE MATCH DATABASE FOR KIDS**

 **Name:** Daniel "Oscar" Berryman  
 **Age:** 11  
 **Species:** Human  
 **Occupation:** Lab Director and Unofficial Management Adviser at Odd Squad Headquarters, chapter #13579  
 **Previous Work Experience:** Assistant, door greeter, Segway driver, air conditioner repairman, concessions salesman, lifeguard, Security personnel, Tube Operator, [list continued on next page]  
 **Favorite Food:** Carrots  
 **Favorite Dance:** Charleston  
 **Hobbies:** Building gadgets, doing experiments, being awkward  
 **Relationship Status:** Single (I think—more like Not On Speaking Terms)

 **AND YOUR PERFECT MATCH IS…** AGENT OLIVE!

 **Not Satisfied? Here's an Alternate Match:** Princess Blossom Pepperdoodle von YumYum!

Oscar blushed. "Didn't work out so well, heh."

"I'll say." Taking the initiative, Dr. O crumpled up the printout and tossed it in a nearby trashcan. "I'm a doctor, not a rocket scientist, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out you still like her, Oscar."

"You're telling me. Heh, even _I_ know that," Oscar admitted with an eyeroll, seemingly snide, as if he could care less. But though a doctor and not a mind-reader, Dr. O knew he was clearly anything but, especially based on the printout she'd just read.

Not to mention all the awkward interactions Olive and Oscar had had with each other over the past six months…

* * *

Olive was beginning to wonder if Oscar actually _tried_ to torture her.

After all, who else would invent a gadget that would make the mere act of putting on a jacket the most painful physical experience in the world?

Finally the spasm-inducing rainbow beam shut off, leaving her and Otto clad in thick wool regulation winter jackets and stifling groans of discomfort. They didn't even have time to recover before Ms. O was yelling, "Well, what are you waiting for? _GO!_ " while Oscar scuttled away. Olive followed her partner into the tubes headed for the town square, but not without being quite irritated at the scientist and Ms. O's obvious preference for him. Even the later discovery that Agent Owen had decided to follow her around on their case that day, hid behind the cleaven snowmen, and had been the one who knocked over the the paint cans in Baby Genius's lair didn't irritate her so much as just those eleven seconds in the same room with Oscar.

She hadn't seen the gut-wrenching pain in Oscar's eyes as he'd fired the Jacketinator.

Nor did she see the horror and sympathy on his face when she and Ms. O later dragged the screaming right half of Otto into the lab. All Olive noticed was the aloof sang-froid of a scientist at work, calmly checking his scanner for a fix to the problem, not making eye contact with her at all. It even annoyed her a little that he could be so calm while she was plugging her ears from her partner's incredibly loud screaming—especially considering he had only one lung, half his vocal chords, and half a mouth.

Thankfully, Ms. O was fed up, too. "CALM _DOWN!_ " she finally yelled.

That shut Otto up, at least. "Calm down? Half my body's disappeared!" he protested as Olive removed the fingers from her ears. With his single eye he glanced pleadingly at the Lab Director. "Oscar, can you fix this?"

It took all her effort for Olive not to roll her eyes. Though having only met him for the first time a few days ago on his birthday, already Otto had put his complete trust in Oscar. _If only Otto knew what he was capable of,_ she thought with a mental grimace. _Not that I'm going to tell him anytime soon._

Then again, this was a matter of physics, not partnerships. "Uh, yes…" Oscar affirmed, still examining the reading on his scanner. Watching Otto sigh with relief, Olive couldn't help feeling a little relieved, too. At least this would all be over soon, and the two of them could leave and go find Symmetric Al—

But the relief was short-lived. "Oh, sorry I mean no!" Oscar suddenly exclaimed, jerking his head up from the gadget with a nervous laugh. "Sometimes I get the two words mixed up sometimes, heh…"

Otto started moaning.

 _Seriously?_ Olive threw her arms out and shot him an indignant look. To her satisfaction, Oscar winced. "Sorry. I'm afraid the only person who can fix this is Symmetric Al," he told her, again not quite making eye contact.

Though disgusted with him, Olive had to acknowledge he'd confirmed the solution to this problem, albeit the one she and Otto had been working towards themselves. "Ms. O, how do I find him?" she asked, deliberately ignoring Oscar.

"There's only one way." And with a sympathetic look, Ms. O held up a baby rattle.

Olive went cold with fear. That was no ordinary baby rattle. She'd recognize it anywhere. "No," she gasped. "No, please, anything but that! I won't, I-I-I can't—!"

Otto moaned again.

With one look at him, Olive made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan. _But I have to,_ she told herself, setting her jaw firmly. _The stories about Baby Genius are just stories. If he can help me, I have to go see him. For Otto's sake._

 _Because partners don't just abandon their partners._

* * *

"Knock, knock?" Oscar poked his head in the doorway of the Dark Room. "O'Connor, you in here?"

The click of typewriter keys and the tiny red desk lamp illuminating the journalist's silhouette indicated he was. "Can't talk now," he replied curtly. "Gotta finish this guest column I'm writing for the _Daily Rag_. Come back in thirty-eight seconds."

"Oh. Okay." Shutting the door, Oscar stood outside and counted thirty-eight seconds on his watch, then opened the door again. "Is now a better time?"

"Oh, hi there, Oscar!" There was a scraping sound of a chair moving back across the floor, and suddenly the overhead lights in the room flicked on to reveal O'Connor standing by his desk, today dressed in his Tube Operator uniform. "What's the scoop?"

Oscar held out his tablet for the journalist to peruse. "Ms. O wanted you to know we've got some odd weather moving toward town today. Salsa front from the north and raining cats and dogs in the south. Is it possible to do an Odd Report on it?"

"Hmm." O'Connor flipped through the broadcasts. "Mm-hmm…mm-hmm…yep, this'll do it!" He handed the tablet back. "You've been behind the camera for the past several reports. Wanna take the stage this time?"

"Well, hehe, if it's no trouble…"

"You got it!" O'Connor flicked back off the lights, plunging the room into temporary darkness. Then there was a _click_ as the Blue-Roominator powered on, and suddenly the entire room turned bright blue, perfect for filming Odd Reports. Satisfied, the two boys set to work.

"…Wrap it up!"

"Also," Oscar concluded, several minutes later, "if anyone would like to take these animals home as pets, that'd be great. See, I would, but…" he put his hands on his hips and wrinkled his nose a little, "I've still got my hands full from last week's bunny storm…"

Just for kicks, O'Connor brought up a picture of all the pet bunnies Oscar had acquired the previous week, and the scientist grinned at the camera. "I named them all Oscar Jr." He pointed at the fluffiest one and added in a whisper, "That one's my favorite."

"Aaaaaannnd CUT!" Switching off the camera, O'Connor unplugged the Blue-Roominator and let the lights fade back to normal. "That's a wrap, Oscar! Nice job, the camera loved you!"

"Really?" Oscar's cheeks flushed a little and he smiled. "Thank you, heh!"

"Yeah! And you know the drill, of course," the journalist went on as he packed up the camera and moved it back to the corner of the room. "Five minutes until the Odd Report airs on everyone's tablets and we can get agents out into the field."

Oscar nodded. "Sounds good! Now I gotta get back to work." On his way out the door, he turned back. "By the way, are you Tube Operating tomorrow or Sciencing?"

"I think the second one!" came the muffled reply, causing Oscar to shake his head and chuckle. _O'Connor is never without some big project,_ he thought to himself on his way back to the lab. _Just like I'm never without a gadg—_

He spotted her.

Relaxing at her desk, her tablet vibrated and she picked it up and clicked on it. Moments later she made a face, switched the tablet off, and went back to rearranging her red binder clips into neat rows of six-by-three.

Rooted to the spot, Oscar had to pinch himself to get moving again. _Of course she's not going to watch it. Not if she didn't read my newsletter article about the Blob back in January. Just don't take it personally, Oscar. Don't take it personally. I mean it now, don't take it personally!_

He took it personally.

* * *

"And now for the _really_ bad news…" Tapping the wall to hide Agent Orson's report, Ms. O made her way between Olive, Otto, and Debbie and walked briskly toward the office doorway. Olive jerked her head to indicate they should follow her, and off they went.

Down the double staircase and right up to the lab entrance, where Delivery Debbie's two doubles were standing and waiting for her. _Wait a minute,_ Olive began to wonder as the group coalesced again. _But if she doubled twice, then shouldn't there be…?_

"One of the doubles is missing!" Ms. O exclaimed.

Almost as if on cue, _he_ popped up. "Hey guys," he said, sounding out of breath, his sudden appearance causing Olive to start in surprise and annoyance. "And now for the really, _really_ bad news…"

Olive could almost hear the dramatic violin glissando in the background as everyone looked at him. _Now why do I get the feeling he's going to pull one of his moments?_

Sure enough, Oscar held up his wrist and sighed, "My watch stopped working."

 _Called it!_

Ms. O gave him a look.

 _Interesting,_ Olive mused as she too rolled her eyes and shook her head. _Even the boss gets annoyed with her own favorite agent._ She filed that away for future reference.

But Oscar wasn't through yet. "Also," he went on as he smacked his watch one last time, "I can't fix this unless I have all the doubles."

 _Now_ _he tells us the important part._ Olive tried not to react this time, instead focusing back on the problem.

And fortunately for her, she was about to get a lucky break, for once. "Olive," Ms. O ordered, "you go with Debbie and find that double!"

It was as if Ms. O were reading her mind. Later, while escorting Debbie to 2 Rosewood Avenue, easily slipping into the comfortable role as wise young agent with practical and desirable solutions, Olive would wonder if Ms. O might have gotten her out of headquarters and away from Oscar on purpose. But with him as personal Management adviser and the fact that seldom knew about her ephemeral crush on him while they were partners, Olive immediately dismissed the thought.

* * *

In all his years of knowing her, Oscar had never seen Olive this happy before.

It made him sad.

But hey, at least she was too busy fangirling over her favorite coach's basketball to be shooting dirty looks his way.

 _Never mind, I've got a job to do,_ he reminded himself as he finished hooking on his number scanner. "This gadget will be able to detect any 13s on your players, Coach!" he told Roberts with a smile. Then he turned back to the team to begin—impatiently watching as Olive continued to get autographs. Suppressing a scoff, Oscar awkwardly managed, "Um, Olive? Mind stepping away…?"

If nothing before had been any proof, Olive's "Sure thing!" and _giggle_ as she skipped back from the team proved to Oscar that right now she was too much of a fangirl to notice him. If it meant better anonymity, it probably wasn't such a bad idea to not be noticed, anyhow.

Sure enough, when the scanner beeped an alarm on Jasper Jora and he brought out the buttons in his pockets with a defensive "So I like buttons, so what?" while Oscar eyed him skeptically, Olive was quick to side with the basketball player. "Yeah! So what? Don't judge him!" she chided Oscar, pointing a finger at him.

Luckily, to save Oscar from coming up with some unfairly unnecessary defense, Otto intervened. "Problem is," he reasoned, motioning for Olive to calm down a bit, "the guy's got ten in one hand and three in the other."

"Yeah, and ten plus three equals…" Oscar did the math. "Thirteen!"

Everyone gasped as the equation popped up on the screen display behind them. Mentally Oscar breathed a sigh of relief. His scanner had been right, and Olive didn't try to rebuke him the second time when he discovered the thirteen water bottles.

Then later, after the team left and Olive and Otto were given free tickets to the big game tomorrow, he got another comforting little bit of news. While Olive's fangirl mode kicked into overdrive, Otto shot a weirded-out look at Oscar. "Scan her," he muttered. "Please."

Warily, Oscar nodded and aimed the yellow-green beam of his scanner at her, which thankfully she didn't notice. Meanwhile thinking, _Otto doesn't know. She must never have told him about the two of us, or he wouldn't've trusted me to scan her for oddness. And thank goodness. Better only one to hate me than two._

* * *

"Go for Olive."

"It's me, Oscar. Did you fix the pool yet?"

 _As if I wouldn't recognize your voice anywhere,_ Olive mentally retorted. But at least he was being strictly business, so she figured he deserved a cordial answer. "Um, we're getting closer?" she said iffily, watching Otto shiver on the frozen side of Yucks's backyard.

"Ms. O really needs to swim," Oscar insisted. "I told her to take a drink of water to relax, but…" Even Olive could hear the loud "OOOOOOSCAAAAAARRR! ! !" that followed, and she definitely heard the noise of water splashing on fabric. "…she didn't like that."

Olive wasn't sure if she wanted to facepalm, growl, smirk, roll her eyes, or do all four. First of all, she knew very well just how much Ms. O wanted to swim from the ripped-in-half pool noodle, and she didn't appreciate Oscar acting like he knew more than her in that respect. Second of all, literally everyone knew Ms. O hated drinking water, and if Oscar couldn't have just gotten her a juice box, he was failing in his job as adviser. Third of all, he definitely deserved to have a glass of water thrown at him if that was the case. And fourth of all, who did he think he was, calling her in the first place? In the end she settled for curtly replying "I got it, I got it!" in a clearly aggravated tone.

Either Oscar didn't get the subtext or he just didn't care. "Please hurry," came the pleading reply, followed by another satisfyingly larger splash and another angry "OSCAR!"

This time rolling her eyes, Olive snapped the phone shut and hung up on him before he could say anything else. _I don't need you telling me how fast or slow to do my job, you flake,_ she thought. _Next time call Otto instead, because I'm done dealing with your crumpets._

Evidently he somehow got her angry mental message, because once Sven Jorgensen was trapped in the frozen puddle and they'd high-fived, it was Otto's badge phone that rang. "Oscar, we fixed the temperature problem," he said, smiling at Olive.

Olive shrugged and smiled back. _New partner bragging on me to old partner? I'll take it._

But suddenly Otto's expression changed as a reply came back to him on the phone. He wasn't smiling anymore. Hanging up, he exhaled and clapped his hands together. "Ms. O flooded headquarters," he announced to Olive.

Her eyes widened. " _What?!_ " The one time Oscar didn't call her, it was actually about something that mattered? _Never mind,_ she reminded herself. _Right now it's more important Otto and I get back to HQ, stat._ "We've gotta get our swimsuits!"

* * *

"…But she's got a new partner now," Oscar finally said, clearly trying to be dismissive. "Agent Otto. I mean, I guess he's not really that new anymore, it's been seven months. You remember him, Doctor. He and Olive work so well together, I wouldn't be surprised if…if they…" he trailed off. "I dunno, what do you think of Otto?"

Dr. O pursed her lips, suddenly on her guard. "I've met him a few times, yes. He's a…decent agent."

Oscar squinted at her a little. _Oh no,_ Dr. O thought, tensing up a little. _I didn't make him too suspicious, did I?_

Thankfully, at that moment Oscar's badge phone started ringing. "Excuse me for a second," he mumbled, flipping it open. "Yello! …oh, great…! Back soon? Should I…yes, Ms. O!" He hung up. "The mission was a success!" he hastily related to Dr. O, hopping up and dashing over to the sick bed. "Gotta go let everyone know. See ya later, Doctor!" And with that Oscar slid through the ejection hole and down into the slide that would carry him to the ball pit below.

Now it was Dr. O's turn to feel relieved. _It's too soon for me to tell Oscar yet. Not until I've completely figured it out myself can he know._

She turned her head toward the computer and/or phone screen you're currently intently staring at. "And that goes for you too, reader! You've got two more chapters of two other ships to read before Otto and I tell you about _ours_ …"


	31. The Prodigal

The Prodigal

July 4, 2014.

It had been exactly twenty-nine years and eleven months since he'd left her. Just shy of three whole decades.

And Oprah was still lonely.

Over the past thirty years, not a day had gone by when she didn't miss him. The way he'd whipped his sunglasses off when he came to work every morning. Faithfully working alongside and supporting her on every odd case they tackled. The way he'd called her his own baby doll. Wrapping his arms around her in a warm and loving embrace. Oprah missed it all.

At first she'd tried calling him multiple times, until she remembered (falsely, as it later turned out) he probably hadn't taken his badge with him and probably had a different phone number now. Next she'd thought about setting out to look for him herself, but decided against it upon remembering how big Toronto was, let alone anywhere else in the world he might be. So in the end she kept it all inside. Or tried to, at least. Often it escaped in the form of raising her voice at her agents, which she regretted somewhat as turning her into the bully she'd told him she despised. Still, she could never bring herself to breathe a word about the whole thing to anyone.

Not even to her new adviser. Not even Oscar.

Oprah had toyed with the idea about possibly developing not just an affection, but an attraction for the Lab Director. He had taken her mind off her emotional relapses and helped to make them shorter, that was for sure. And he was cute, the way his chocolate-brown eyes darted back and forth nervously, the way his deft fingers moved as he began working on some gadget or sewing project, the way he was always more than eager to help her out with whatever she needed—especially during that entire ordeal with finding a pet. But the fact was, Oscar just wasn't like O'Donahue. Never had been. Besides, there was the small matter of his wrecked relationship with Olive, and she couldn't intrude in any way if she wanted to keep her own rule.

No, in the end it all boiled down to O'Donahue not being at her side anymore.

But today, at precisely two o'clock in the afternoon, that was all about to change.

It was the two dashes that did it. The sight of them displayed on the screen in Oscar's lab might have triggered one of her relapses, if it hadn't been for Otto's blissfully ignorant question of what they were. Suddenly she was all business again, and the memories and emotions pressing at the edges of her mind receded. A little surprised, Oprah took a step backward and found all three pairs of eyes on her as she declared a pivotal decision for herself.

"You're off the case, and I'm on it."

Their surprise mirrored her own. "So, you're going to catch the bad guy… _alone?_ " Otto asked incredulously.

She shook her head and smiled a little. "Not alone. It's time I paid a visit to my old partner. O'Donahue." And for an added flair, "Dun dun DUUUNNNNNN!"

Now, here she stood at the edge of the beach, squinting in the bright afternoon sun at the very fishing pier where her world had been shattered nearly three decades ago. The two dashes that had served as the excuse to rip her partner from her side were gone, of course, covered over several years back when the wooden planks were paved with concrete. But it was still the same pier. Though she didn't exactly know how or why, something told her she'd find him here. And sure enough, way out at the other end of the pier, stood a lone figure.

Oprah suddenly felt her chest tighten with fear. She couldn't do this. She wasn't going to be able to do this. He wasn't going to want to talk to her, he'd just blow her off like he did before. But the sight of her three agents' shocked faces was imprinted on her mind. She'd told them. Mentioned her partner's name for the first time in almost thirty years. So she had to try.

That one thought was enough to galvanize her into action, and she took her first purposeful step forward.

Five hundred seventy-nine steps later, she stopped. Not three meters away from where she stood was her old partner, his silhouette blurred slightly in the summer heat radiating from the concrete. He looked rugged in his fishing outfit, older with his beard (from behind, Oprah couldn't tell if it was real or not), and world-weary from his slumped shoulders. Upon seeing him so close, she could feel the emotions pressing back again, but she managed to keep them quiet.

She knew he knew she was there, and he knew it. "Whaddya want, Oprah?" he said flatly, without turning around. He sounded bored.

Oprah set her jaw to stop her lip from quivering. She was starting to doubt if this would work. "O'Donahue, I need your help."

He turned around.

 _Oh…I never thought I'd see his beautiful dark eyes again._

 _Wow…I never thought I'd see her beautiful dark eyes again._

"You know I hung up my badge for this fishing pole thirty years ago?" he reminded her with a meaningful look.

Yes. She knew too well, and he knew that. She also knew that he knew that she knew how terrible of a fisher he'd always been. He was tormenting her on purpose. _As if I haven't had enough of_ _that_ _._ Nonetheless, she couldn't hide a wry look. _Maybe this'll get his attention._ "Will this change your mind?"

She pulled out her sign.

The fishing pole clattered to the ground, forgotten.

Oprah felt a surge of confidence. If this was a game, she had the upper hand now. "He's back. Struck a b-day party this morning. Mr. Hoogensdorf started with sixty candles and ended up with just eight."

She watched as his brow furrowed, briefly changing his expression from one of disbelief to one of thoughtfulness. Then just like that his eyes narrowed, and up went the guard. "I'm not saying I'm interested," he said offhandedly, "but if I was, how many candles is that, exactly?"

With his guarded poise, Oprah couldn't tell what his motive was here. It had been too long and, distressingly, she found she couldn't quite read him the same way she used to be able to. Either he truly had slipped back into his traditional totally-cool-yet-totally-clueless role, or he was only saying that to humor her. Could it possibly be both? She wasn't sure. Either way, it was a small comfort to know he wasn't writing her off so easily.

However, he seemed to suddenly change his mind once she'd finished explaining how there were fifty-two stolen candles. "Do you even know where he is, or what he looks like?" he demanded, eyes narrowing even further to slits. "Is _he_ even a he?"

Her face fell. She was forced to exhale, bite her lip, and shake her head.

"Then we're no better off than we were all those years ago, Oprah. This villain is the reason I quit the squad!"

 _Liar._

O'Donahue realized it at the same time as she did, and sheepishly he looked away. Not that he was wrong. By "we're no better off", he sure to odd wasn't referring to their inability to solve a case. _Y'know,_ Oprah wanted to say, _It's kinda funny how we're using an unsolved case as a metaphor for our breakup. Don't you think so?_

He seemed to understand her. As if in answer, he turned his back to her and closed his eyes. "I can't go back down that road again," he insisted with a heavy sigh.

She could almost hear the hurt in his voice, and it dawned on her that he'd had his share of pain, too. Before walking away, jacket slung over his shoulder, what was it he'd said…?

" _If you really wanted to help me—if you really_ _cared_ — _you'd've come when I needed it. And if you really needed my help as an adviser, you'd have taken me off the case instead of keeping me out in the field."_

Just now, the first thing she'd said to him was _she_ needed _his_ help…

With that in mind, it occurred to her what she needed to say, what he needed to hear. "I can't catch him without you." She took a deep breath and implored, "Will you put your suit on one last time?

For me?"

* * *

 _I'm not doing it. I'm not. I can't go back down your road again._

He opened his eyes.

 _…one last time…_

His shoulders sank.

 _…not without you…_

His eyes fluttered closed again.

 _…I need your help…_

His head bowed.

 _…for me…?_

And he turned back around.

 _God, I missed you, Oprah._

His lips betrayed a tiny smile. His first in years.

"I never took it off."

* * *

Off came the fisherman's vest.

Off came the khakis.

Off came the fake beard.

Off came the hat.

Underneath was that same navy jacket. Those same navy slacks. Even that same blue Hawaiian shirt with the collar tugged up. And on it was pinned Badge #83.

Oprah grinned.

O'Donahue grinned back.

It was only then she noticed that her badge was ringing. Reluctant to disrupt the moment, she answered it. "Go for Oprah." After a pause, "And O'Donahue."

They exchanged a look. "Oh yeah!" they said in sync, barely able to contain their huge grins. Just like old times.

It was Olive, of course, reporting to tell her of the latest finding. After an acknowledgement and a reprimand for Otto, she hung up and filled O'Donahue in. "So," she added casually, eyebrow raised. "Did you catch anything in the last thirty years?"

Her partner chuckled and shook his head. "Not a thing."

 _Oh, O'Donahue. I missed you so much._

* * *

This time, the mission was a success. The villain, who had evaded capture since 1984 and turned out to be a man who called himself Equal Evan, was not only caught and stopped, but reformed into an equalizer for doing good.

Meanwhile, Oprah and O'Donahue got their catching up done. O'Donahue learned, to his dismay, that his partner's juice-drinking habit had only worsened after his departure, until she'd gotten to the point where she now drank a hundred packs a day—one thousand juice boxes. Oprah learned that, in spite of keeping his badge, her partner had never gone back to see Carol, even though he'd missed her terribly. And they both learned that they'd longed for the old days of chasing bad guys and hiding in ambush and mathing out solutions to problems and just plain old bantering back and forth more than they'd realized.

Through it all, neither one spilled out the pent-up emotions inside. Neither one made a move on the other, either. It was too soon for any of that. The most they allowed themselves was at the end, right before and after receiving the new assignment from Olive to find a shoe-thief. From congratulating each other to high-fiving, Oprah and O'Donahue kept things cordial and platonic while still acknowledging how much they'd missed each other.

But they also knew it couldn't last the day. Once the final remaining shoe had been returned, O'Donahue really did go back to the old fishing pier. Oprah was sad to see him go, and she was sure he was just as sad to leave. Despite the success of the day, they knew it was an anomaly. Neither did so much as phone the other in the months that followed. Oprah's relapses, though less frequent and certainly less severe, came back. Now knowing all of the above, she missed him more than ever.

And yet there was a change. Late that fall, when Olive, Otto, and Oscar ceded their last jellybean to her, she told them the story of how she became Ms. O—and how O'Donahue, as her partner, had helped. And later that winter, on their cleaning day, she told Olive and Otto the story of how she joined the squad—and how O'Donahue had worked so hard to recruit her. They were both stories she'd never told a soul before.

Oprah was finally opening up about her past.

And she was finally letting go.

* * *

xxx

* * *

Back inside her office, she held up her open badge phone and pressed the 'Send' icon.

He picked up on the first ring. "Hello?" And then, "Oprah? Is that you?"

A single tear effortlessly escaped her relapse-weakened eyelids and disappeared in the wetness on her cheeks. "Yes," she managed hoarsely. "Yes, O'Donahue. It's me."


	32. The Rescuer

**A/N Okay, at this point, if you haven't read my other fanfic "Olive's Last Partner" yet, you really should go do that _NOW_ before reading this chapter. Even if you have already read OLP, I would suggest you go read it anyhow to refresh your memory. :)**

 **In other news, three more days of school and then I graduate woot woot!**

The Rescuer

Of all the things Otto might have expected to happen today when he got out of bed this morning, getting tackled and nearly smothered by a giant green blob was not one of them.

Neither was it necessarily something he'd expected to happen when he came up with the plan to ambush it in the purple star boiler room. In all honesty, as he unscrewed and opened up the side of the piping, he kinda-sorta hoped its size would make it less frisky than a normal Blob, and it would just drop out and slither down nicely for him to Shrinkinate. Instead, he nearly got swallowed whole.

The thick, oozing green mass stifled his cries of dismay.

And, as he struggled to fight his way out, it also muffled the ensuing commotion next door.

* * *

Half an hour earlier, Oscar had been in Ms. O's office offering advice on which juice box flavor to stock up on next ("Fruit punch is the best flavor, sure, but it's been months since you've ordered the mango passion fruit…") when the call came in.

"Hold that thought," Ms. O said as she picked up the phone receiver. "Go for O…Agent Owen, you—…Owen, stop! Use your words, what happened…? It's _what?!_ …Alright, I'll send help as soon as I can. See if you can close off the main pipe until we get it out… Uh-huh, thanks for letting me know." She hung up and immediately grabbed a juice box.

 _Uh-oh. That means something's REALLY wrong._ "Ms. O, what's going on?" Oscar asked.

Ms. O shook her head. "Something very bad has happened," she said heavily. "Owen says he's found something big and green in the Mechanical Rooms' main piping. He doesn't know what it is, but it's clogging the pipe and it's _growing._ " Grabbing her remote, she aimed it at the screen behind her and pulled up a live blueprint of headquarters, then highlighted the lower basement floor and its pipe network.

Immediately Oscar noticed a green dot in the orange triangle section of the main pipe. On the map it looked small, but sure enough it was steadily growing longer. "Big and green and growing…?" he frowned worriedly and adjusted his glasses. "Oh, no. It's not a Blobisite, is it?"

"Don't ask me! But whatever that thing is, it needs to be stopped."

"Heh, no kidding! I wrote about these things in the Odd Squad newsletter last winter. At best it can disrupt our heating and cooling systems, but at worst it could burst a pipe or even a boiler—"

"Yes, I get that!" Ms. O cut him off. "Right now, I need you to go down to the orange triangle room, open up the piping, and see if you can get it out. Do you think you can do it yourself, or are you gonna need backup?"

"Um, that depends," Oscar replied over his shoulder as he headed for the office doors. "If it really is a Blobisite, then yeah, I may need a couple agents for backup. B-but lemme take a look at it first, and I'll call you if I do need help!"

Sure enough, when he got down to the orange triangle room, climbed up on his stepladder, and unscrewed a section of the metal piping, the big green thing clogging the main pipe was none other than a Blobisite. Worse, as Oscar quickly noticed, it was too big for him to force out and use the Shrinkinator on by himself. "This doesn't look good at all," he muttered grimly. About to reach for his badge phone, he was surprised to find it already ringing. "Yello!" he answered.

"What's happening?"

It was Ms. O. "We've got a Blobisite, just like I thought," he stated. "It's too big now for me to handle alone, so if you could send someone to help, that'd be—"

"That's what I thought," she interrupted. "Right after you left, I went ahead and called for Agents Olive and Otto. I've briefed them and they're on their way now."

 _She sent Olive?_ Oscar tensed a little. He hadn't worked together with her for over a year now, and things hadn't exactly improved between the two of them. Sure, she and Otto were definitely one of the best teams on the squad, and he'd been happy to have their help before with the Hydraclops and the Oscarbots. Still…Oscar knew very well that today was August 4, and he was almost certain Olive remembered, too. He wasn't sure he would be able to stand the extra withering looks of disgust she'd be sending his way, not even by putting on a big fake smile. "Ms. O, a-are you sure? I mean, one or two of my scientists would be p-perfectly fine, heh…hello? Hello?" He sighed. Ms. O had already hung up on him. _Come on, Oscar, look on the bright side. It's not like I'll be left alone with her or anything._ Exasperated, he looked down and fumbled to clip his badge back onto his lab coat.

Lost his balance.

Yelped and made a wild grab at the pipe to keep from falling.

Accidentally grabbed the Blobisite.

Got spit in the face when the creature angrily slammed into the side of the pipe.

And forced himself to act like his normal, chipper, erudite self as the door hissed open and in ran Olive and Otto.

* * *

Finally, with one mighty shove, Otto threw the Blobisite off of him and gasped in a breath of air. Panting, he pulled himself to his feet.

His jaw dropped.

 _Every inch of the floor was covered in writhing green goo._

But at the moment, there was an even bigger problem. The muffled sound of a sloshing echoing roar made him look up, and to his horror Otto discovered that the last of the Blobisite was about to fall out of the pipe. And after that…

Not wanting to think about what would come next, Otto sprang into action. In a flash he grabbed the section of piping he'd removed, leapt to the top of the stepladder, and slammed it into place just as the last of the Blobisite slipped out, taking with it a blessedly small trickle of— _orange juice?_ But there wasn't time to speculate. Immediately he felt the pressure of rushing liquid against the metal piping in his hands, and hurriedly screwed it back into place. Relieved, Otto sank into a sitting position on the ladder and began to pull out his Shrinkinator.

And that's when he heard the eerily quiet screams: "Otto! Let us out! We're trapped and it's flooding!"

Suddenly it dawned on him that in the background there had been a muffled roar through the cement walls that entire time. Now, horrified, he put two and two together and realized what was happening to Olive and Oscar in the orange triangle room next door.

 _My partner's going to drown._

"OLIVE!" Overwhelmed by dread, Otto nearly dashed out then and there, but his cry had disturbed the Blobisite. The green mass started shifting around even more violently and nearly toppled over the ladder. Otto looked at it, then up at the wall. Torn between dangers. Which one to take care of first?

"Hang tight, Olive," Otto whispered with a gulp. "I'm sorry, but this can't wait."

With that, he fired his Shrinkinator and began the agonizingly long process of reducing such a gigantic creature into something small enough to not be a threat. All the while hoping and praying he wouldn't be too late.

* * *

 _I thought you never cared._

 _Silly me._

 _You always cared._

 _All this time_

 _you_

 _always_

 _cared._

 _How could I have been so wrong?_

* * *

Bucket in hand, Otto tore out into the hallway and skidded to a stop in front of the door with the orange triangle.

It was unlocked. He could go in there right now and save them.

But through all the layers of terror and worry and panic, a crucial shard of logic made its way through his mind: _You can't open the door without a plan for stopping the orange juice from flooding headquarters._

 _So I'm helpless?!_ Otto wanted to scream back. Frustrated, he fought back the panicky paralysis about to freeze him to the floor and dug in his pockets for something, anything, that could have the slightest hope of getting them out safely.

His hand closed around the Freezerayinator.

* * *

 _I thought you might never forgive me._

 _Boy was I wrong._

 _All I had to do was talk to you,_

 _and now I know_

 _you_

 _still_

 _care._

 _I won't ever let you go again._

* * *

The whole thing was over in six minutes.

Weary, yet invigorated somewhat after laughing hysterically over how stupid Olive and Oscar had been to assume the door sealed itself shut without even checking, the trio trudged out of the Mechanical Rooms hallway and up to the main headquarters foyer.

Up to Ms. O's office, where they told her what Otto believed to be the whole story.

Back down to the locker rooms and the showers, where en route Oscar whipped out a camera and took selfies of their utterly (and now laughably) bedraggled appearances.

To the tubes and back home for a hard-earned time off from work—in Otto's case, by way of a bet-winning trip to the Donut Room. After all, of all the things he'd expected to happen today, saving his friends' lives was not one of them.

Which is why Otto never noticed how something had changed between Olive and Oscar.

For the first time since he'd known them, they were treating each other like old friends.

Friends, and so much more.

* * *

The next day, after hearing the doorbell ring, Oscar was greeted at the front door of his home by a girl so different from the one he'd known the past year.

Looking at each other, they had to laugh. On their day off, neither had felt like wearing anything but sweats and T-shirts after yesterday's ordeal. They laughed even harder when a curious little bunny hopped out through the doorway and sniffed at Olive's flip-flop-clad feet. Oscar quickly scooped up the tiny animal with a "No no, Oscar Junior, let's let Olive get inside the door first!"

Not too long after, the two of them were sitting on an area rug in the middle of the living room floor, petting any bunnies who happened to hop by. They had _a lot_ to catch up on. "So how long ago did you first figure it out?" Olive began, after a few minutes of awkward small talk. "Y'know, that you _liked_ me."

Oscar's cheeks turned bright pink, which Olive thought looked adorable. "Look…I'll be honest, but it was pretty much from the start. Y'know, like I said yesterday, the moment I met you I wanted to help you in any way I could, and it didn't take long before I figured out—um, what that meant. W-what about you?"

Olive chuckled. "It took me a little longer. I don't think I finally admitted it to myself until about two years into our partnership, right around when you started leaving. I don't know, it was sometime after that case with Nadia and the mystery box, and sometime before that overseas one we got called to in Tara, Ireland."

"The one on Raloo Farm where the cabbages all turned into zombies?"

"That's the one." With a pointed look she added, "The last case you and I actually solved all the way through together."

Oscar bit his lip and looked away guiltily. "Yeah…"

"Hey." Olive reached out and turned his chin so he was facing her again. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. You _know_ I forgive you, now that we've told each other everything. And…" now it was her turn to blush, "I'm really glad I don't have to hate you anymore. I like liking you better."

That made Oscar smile. "Heh, well, I like liking you better, too," he said with a wink.

This earned him a look of disapproval from Olive. "Y'know, Oscar, I really don't think being a flirt suits you all that well. And I have a feeling I'm going to say that again in the future, too."

He pursed his lips in that awkward little way she loved. "Did Oda and Odalis just tell you that to make you feel better?"

"Maybe…?" After a bout of laughter, Olive was suddenly thoughtful. "I do miss them, though. After Otto and I became partners, there was just no time anymore to see them, and before I knew it they'd transferred. They helped me through a lot of stuff those four months, yeah. But I guess I _do_ have a partner now to be my best friend." She took his hand and squeezed it. "And I've got you, too."

Oscar turned from pink to red, but he didn't let go or look away. _God, her eyes are so beautiful,_ he thought, losing himself in their gold-flecked brown. _I missed them so much. But I missed her more._

Which reminded him…

"You say your partner is your best friend? So…in the past eight months, you never…y'know, felt anything for him?"

Olive pursed her lips and then shrugged. "I guess that's a fair question. Not really, no. I mean…I considered it, sure, but neither Otto nor I have ever really seen each other that way. He's my best friend, like I said." Secretly, Oscar thought it was cute how embarrassed this was making her. "Okay, can we stop talking about this now? You already know how I feel about you, and I don't need you getting jealous."

Oscar couldn't resist a nose boop, which made her giggle. "Deal!"

Later, after an hour's worth of explaining things to each other from over the years, and then deciding to watch and relax to a movie and picking _Mr. Smith Goes to Washington_ (Olive's choice, not Oscar's), the two could be found dozing on the couch, their heads resting on each other's shoulders, grasping each other's hands tightly, bunnies sitting contentedly in their laps.

"Hey, Olive?" Oscar murmured sleepily at one point, "You know there's a word for that, right?"

"A word for what?"

"Getting tired of the same worries and fears for years and years."

No reply. Olive had fallen back asleep. Chuckling, Oscar decided that wasn't such a bad idea. "It's called altschmerz."


	33. The Doctor

**A/N I realized as I was writing this that I made a huge mistake with my own timeline somehow, and here's what it is: In "Olive's Last Partner" I set the episode "Skip Day" _after_ the boiler room incident when I had Oscar use a gadget to cure Olive of the skips faster. But in this chapter, I set "Skip Day" during the spring _before_ the boiler room incident so that it can also occur before the O Games (which happens after Todd returns, which happens after Olive and Oscar get back together), for reasons you'll see in a bit.**

 **So yeah. Plot hole I wasn't able to fix. :( As if there aren't numerous ones in the show itself...**

 **Anyway, assuming everything goes according to plan, the upcoming week will probably see a new chapter either every day or every other day, since I'm finally out of school (AND ABOUT TO GRADUATE YAY!) and the May 30 deadline is fast approaching. So be sure to check back here often (by which I mean daily) for updates!**

The Doctor

They were out of the warehouse now, and strolling through the Hall of Doors. "Okay, Otto, we've told you the story of how we made up," Olive told her partner with a knowing smile. "Now it's your turn."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he said with an eyeroll, clearly trying to hide a blush. Then his tone grew coy. "Problem is, I think whatever story I'd have to tell is mostly from _her_ point of view…"

"He's backing out," Oscar whispered to Olive, who clucked her tongue.

Otto heard that. "No, I'm being serious!" he protested. "Well, for once at least. But really, if you want me to go back to the _very_ beginning, I'd have to get Dr. O to start the story!"

"What story am I starting?"

The three whirled around.

With her uncanny ability to hear her title spoken from the other side of HQ, there stood the doctor herself. "Did someone call for a doctor?" she asked, glancing back and forth between the three agents.

Olive and Oscar exchanged surprised looks. "Looks like you're in luck, partner," was all Olive said.

Dr. O cocked her head. "What does that mean? What's going on here?" she demanded. But when Otto looked away guiltily and wouldn't meet her eyes, she immediately realized what had happened. "Oh, no. No no no, Otto, no, you didn't…"

"I didn't, I swear!" He jerked a thumb at Olive. "She figured it out on her own!"

"Oh, of _course_ she did." Dr. O's deadpan voice was a little more caustic than normal. "Why am I not surprised?"

Oscar decided to interject here. "Hey, you don't have to tell us anything if you don't want to!" he said quickly, attempting to mollify her.

"He's right," Olive added. "We're only trying to embarrass Otto to get back at him for embarrassing us earlier."

That got her interested. "Embarrass you? Does that mean he found _you two_ out?" At their nods, Dr. O pursed her lips. "I'm a doctor, not a judge. But…it seems only fair." She blinked, set her jaw, and jerked her chin in a short nod. "Very well, I will help you embarrass him."

Taking some pity on a furiously blushing Otto, Olive and Oscar hid their laughter and high-fived each other instead. This was gonna be good…

* * *

xxx

* * *

For the record, Opal didn't care too much for Otto at first.

The new agent was a little too silly for her tastes. Nearly every time he passed by the Medical Bay with Olive or someone else in tow, he was either cracking a joke, busting a new dance move, eating some odd food, or yammering on about Soundcheck. Always one to judge by first impressions, Opal quickly decided he wasn't an agent she wanted to get to know. With a little luck, he wouldn't ever require her medical services, and she'd never need to worry about him annoying her to death.

But we all know that's not what happened.

The first time Opal encountered Otto personally was the day Ms. O contracted the disease from _Opuntia Braccaeviridis_ poisoning. With him and Olive the only witnesses to what had happened, she had no choice but to call them over and recruit them to find the ingredients to the antidote. But to her surprise, Otto turned out to be as decent and accomplished of an agent as his partner. He had great questions about the antidote (which Opal was quick to point out), did the work with Olive without so much as a single complaint, and repeatedly managed to convince Ms. O that absolutely nothing was the matter. Not to mention he even—to her slight annoyance—was quick to put her in check for expecting them to go to the dragon-guarded cave grotto when "there's a water cooler right there!" In fact, the only time Otto did anything silly was when he accidentally got himself sprayed right after Ms. O left. Even then, Opal had to admire how well he took the news _and_ how he managed to stop himself from freaking out too much when the seriously weird things took effect. _I never had seen him work before, I suppose,_ she mused as they finally left. _Maybe my first impressions were wrong._

Then, one week later, the noisemaking disease broke out.

* * *

"Dr. O, I need your help!"

Opal and her head nurse Odell skidded to a stop as their way down the stairs was blocked by Agent Otto. "What is it?" Opal promptly asked, assuming he was there to report a new case of the disease. _Maybe he has some information about Tube 3 to go with it_ , she hoped.

In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. "If you can believe it," Otto quipped, holding up a spatula duct-taped to a toothbrush and a flashlight with an annoyed look on his face, "Oscar doesn't think this is a gadget."

 _…_ _This_ _is what you stopped my work for?_ Caught completely off guard, all Opal could manage to say was, "It isn't!"

Otto made a face. "Ugh, I _knew_ I should've used more tape," he muttered under his breath.

Aware her associate was just as bewildered, Opal fought to keep her anger under control. "Otto," she ground out very deliberately, "we are dealing with a medical emergency right now, and—"

"So am I!" he insisted. "I need chocolate! Do you have a spare gadget I could borrow?"

 _That's it? That's the only thing you wanted?_ she wanted to yell in his face. _Then why'd you stop_ _me_ _in my_ _very_ _important work for something you could've asked literally_ _any_ _other agent here?_ But there wasn't time for arguments. Letting out an angry noise of frustration, Opal dug her hand in her lab coat pocket for the first gadget she could find and shoved it at him. "Just take it, _go!_ " she growled.

Thankfully Otto got the signal loud and clear, and bolted out of her way. Still, precious time had been lost, time during which some unsuspecting agent riding in Tube 3 could have been infected. _Looks like my first impressions about him were right, after all,_ she thought with no small amount of disgust. "We gotta go, now!" she said to Odell, and the two of them dashed toward the Tube Lobby.

Which, of course, turned out to be the _real_ time-waster. In the time it took to argue with O'Callaghan and Omarion, Ms. O and a host of other agents suddenly became infected, followed by none other than…

 _He's interrupting me_ _again_ _? What in jackalope's name could've happened this time?_ "Otto, I already gave you a gadget, I don't have anything else to gi—"

" _VarrrRROOOOOOOOooooommm…!_ "

Olive did a double take.

Odell and Ms. O turned their heads sharply to stare.

But Opal was shocked most of all. "What in the name of the medical community is happening?!" she exclaimed. "I just saw you a few minutes ago and you were fine!"

Otto could only nod in reply, but his raised eyebrow seemed to say, _and who let me out of her sight?_

Opal caught her breath.

Luckily, Olive was there to objectively piece the events together, and with her help, they figured out Oscar's chocolates were behind the outbreak. Relieved to finally isolate and eliminate the cause, Opal set to work mixing up an antidote. But even with an easy cure for a thankfully temporary odd disease with no lasting side effects, she couldn't get over letting Otto down. _It's a bit of a stretch, but he's not wrong,_ she thought. _If I'd been thinking more clearly, I would've remembered to start by looking for what's new first, before anything else. And what was the only significantly new thing? The noisemaker chocolates, of course._

 _Never mind. What's done is done. The good news is, I can cure him now._

As he finished chugging the blue liquid down and grimaced at the taste, Opal took a deep breath and asked him, "Now, can you say, 'my name is Otto'?"

"…My name is Otto!"

Everyone cheered. A wave of relief settled over Opal, and happily she declared, "We've officially cured the last case of the noise outbreak!"

Except, as it turned out, they hadn't. Reaching into his pocket, Otto pulled out a gold foil-wrapped object and began unwrapping it. "I gotta say, all this noise has _really_ worked up my appetite…"

"OTTO, _NO!_ " five voices screamed.

Too late. Otto opened his mouth and—the most beautiful harp music floated out.

"Huh," Olive said, folding her arms thoughtfully. "That actually sounds kinda nice."

"Yeah," Opal agreed with a nod. "Relaxing, even."

Oscar, Ms. O, and Odell took that as a cue to take a seat in the waiting chairs and grab a few magazines to read. Casting an unmistakable look of disapproval at Oscar propping his feet on Odell's knees, Olive opted to bring a magazine over to Otto instead for the two of them to share. Though in disbelief about how calm they were, Otto obligingly began reading it. And since they were standing right beside her, Opal couldn't help but look over his shoulder at the article they had opened to.

It took both her and Otto some time before either of them realized Opal was resting her head on his shoulder.

* * *

Time passed. Routine cases came and went, new agents joined (like Ovejita, who insisted on only speaking Spanish and bringing her older brother Murray to work), and in general things continued as normal—at least, as loosely as the term could be defined where Odd Squad was concerned.

Meanwhile, Opal was in an agony.

Ever since the day of the odd outbreak, she'd started to notice Otto more and more. Instead of annoying, she now found his jokes rather endearing, albeit usually not all that funny. And she grew more and more impressed with his dancing talent, especially after Oscar related to her how he was able to shut off the alarm system that one morning. Rather unfortunately, she even now knew many of the ins and outs of the history behind the band Soundcheck.

"Did you know," she once remarked to Oscar, "that the band once had a fifth member? There's Danny T., Tony D., Ringo, and Johnny J., but there used to also be a guy named Jimmy Z. He'd been their tech person, but apparently he kept sleeping on the job too much and got fired, so now he works for these two animal rights activist brothers."

Oscar shot her a look. "Since when were you so interested in Soundcheck? I thought you once said they were too silly for you."

Opal opened her mouth, then closed it again. "I'm not interested!" she insisted. "I just wanted to know if you knew that or not."

Shrugging, Oscar didn't press the issue. But remembering the day of the top secret mission, Opal couldn't help but wonder if he was suspicious. Not that she would ever admit she'd overheard the fact about Jimmy Z in the first place from Otto. Still, inevitably, there came a day in the early spring when Opal couldn't deny it to herself any longer:

 _I think I have a crush._

Naturally she tried to reason with herself. _But this is stupid! Work comes first, remember? There's no time for silliness like crushes, no time at all. Besides, you're only eleven years old. Kids aren't supposed to do this sort of thing, it simply isn't done! Well, except for Olive and Oscar…but they're your OTP, that's different! It doesn't mean_ _you're_ _allowed to have a crush, not at all. And anyways, there are plenty of other girls he's friendly with that are much more interesting, like Octavia, or Polly Graph, or…or…_

The sudden ringing alarms and red flashing lights of Code Garnet interrupted her thoughts. _Presence of ultra-contagious disease_ , she remembered, and immediately suited up to find and quarantine the disease host.

Who turned out to be Miss Baker with the Skips. Seeing Otto in the office, Opal suddenly became flustered and struggled to remain professional, all but dragging Miss Baker behind her to get out of there as fast as possible. But once Miss Baker was quarantined, she changed her mind. _This is ridiculous. I can't keep running away from him. What I need is a proper introduction. Then maybe we can get to know each other a little bit better._

And over the course of the day, that's what she tried to do. As he inspected Olive's to-do list, Opal came up to him intending to somehow start a conversation, but the manifestation of the Skips in his partner Olive interrupted things. Still, as they both realized what had happened, Opal couldn't help but feel a little happy about it. Now she had an excuse to help and even introduce herself better to him. So when he said, "You're right, Doctor," she thought it was only appropriate to reply with, "Of course I'm right, I'm a doctor."

Otto gave her a weird look. _Okay, maybe that was wrong,_ she amended. _Gosh, I wish I had better social skills._

The second time she tried an introduction was when she called to report the sighting of Olive at Polly Graph's hot chocolate stand. "Otto, it's me, Dr. O," she began. "I work with you at Odd Squad, I wear a lab coat, we were talking about how Olive caught the Skips—"

"Yes, I remember, what's up?"

 _Good, he's not annoyed! I must be doing something right,_ she thought. _But I didn't get to finish. I'll try again next time I have to call him._

So that's what she did. "Otto, it's me again, Dr. O," she said when reporting the sightings of Olive at the swimming pool and basketball court. "We met at headquarters and I talked to you on the phone—"

" _Yes_ , I remember, what is it?"

 _Okay, maybe he was annoyed that time. But was he really? I don't know, it's so hard to tell over the phone, social skills or no._

Then at the end of the call, after she'd told him about the two new sightings, he said something that surprised her. "Thank you, Doctor."

Confused, Opal didn't really think about her response. "And thank you, Doctor."

"…I'm not a doctor."

 _Uh-oh. That was wrong._ Terrible as her improv skills were, she tried to make an excuse. "I know that, I was talking to myself." But it sounded weak, even to her. "Good luck, my friend," she said, trying to make up for her awkwardness. But when he didn't answer, she immediately regretted it and blurted out, "That was also to me."

 _Ugh, that went awfully,_ she thought as she hung up. _Talking on the phone clearly isn't working. If I'm going to do a proper introduction, I'd better try one more time in person. That ought to work better._

So at the end of the day, as they watched Olive and Miss Baker skip in circles in the quarantine chamber, Opal held out her hand to shake and tried one last time. "By the way, I'm Dr. O, I work here at Odd Squad—"

" _I know!_ "

 _So_ _now_ _he's annoyed? Why couldn't he have said so before?_ More confused than ever, Opal decided it was time for her to leave. With a curt nod and a "WHAT'S next?" she briskly high-tailed it outta there.

She needed some more time to think about all this.

Plus she had work to do.

* * *

That had been in the spring of 2014.

But after Olive reconciled things with Oscar on August 4 and was free to focus her attentions elsewhere, outside of her own sentimentality situation, it took her a mere two days to figure out Dr. O had a thing for her partner.

Whether _he_ had a thing for _her_ , though, she wasn't so sure.

Until anything became absolutely clear between the two of them, Olive wasn't going to tell anyone. For one thing, she didn't think relationships were actually allowed in Odd Squad, so she couldn't tell Ms. O for sure. She also didn't want to tell Oscar after recently learning that he and Dr. O had been partners long ago, back when the latter was known as Agent Opal, and it would be more the doctor's place to tell Oscar herself, if she ever even wanted to. And finally, Olive certainly wasn't going to tell Otto, for obvious privacy-related reasons.

Still, the cuteness of the whole idea made her smile. At longlast, she had an OTP of her own to ship.

* * *

"AAAAAAHHH! ! !"

"Oh no, don't run away, I want to braid your hair!"

 _Screw hair-braiding,_ Otto thought as he and Dr. O did the extremely brave and courageous thing: they ran away and hid. _One time in the Robot Princess room was enough for me, and now_ _this_ _?_

Crouched behind a small, hopefully inconspicuous chunk of rock, Otto tried to calm his frantic heartbeat. Next to him, he could hear Dr. O's armor rattle slightly as she trembled. _Dr. O, scared?_ he wondered. _Wow. And here I thought nothing could faze her._

"Do you like my dress?"

A direct laser blast hit their rock and disintegrated it, immediately exposing the two agents. "AAAAAAHHH! ! !" they screamed again, and this time Otto led the way as they ran for cover behind a low, thick wall.

Panting from running and from fear, Dr. O turned to him and said, "Otto, we can do this!"

She sounded so confident. "You really think so?" he answered, briefly taking his eyes off the Robot Princesses to look at her.

She looked away. "Not at all. It's just something I thought I should say."

 _Well, at least she's trying. It's not like I could do much better right now._

To make matters worse, at that moment Odd Todd came around the corner of the central ruins and spotted them cowering. "Awwh, looks like Otto and the Doctor are scared of _princesses!_ Hahaha!" Ducking rainbow lasers, Todd grabbed one of his rings and effortlessly tossed it around the nearest Robot Princess, then cackled and ran off again.

"Otto," he heard Dr. O say evenly, "we can't win if we're hiding behind a rock."

Suddenly he remembered why they were here in the first place. _Oh yeah…we have to beat Odd Todd._ "You're right!" he agreed, trying to match her confidence.

But she didn't budge. Before he could wonder why not, she countered, "Then why aren't you moving?"

 _She was waiting on me?_ "I thought you were gonna go!"

There was an awkward pause. Dr. O looked at him. "Let's go together," she decided.

"Deal."

Up they stood, and in sync shouted, "Shields _up!_ " whipping out a large bronze shield with their corresponding department symbols. The sensation of lasers deflecting off of it made Otto feel a bit more empowered than before. _I can do this._ _We_ _can do this._

Looking over at Dr. O, he noticed she looked a little frightened. "Throw one of your rings!" he called encouragingly.

Propelled into action, the doctor grabbed a ring and, squeezing her eyes shut, threw it in the direction of the nearest Robot Princess.

 _CHING!_

"You got one!" Otto shrieked in delight.

"I did?" She opened her eyes and gasped. " _I did!_ "

Her overjoyment was contagious. It was only one ring and Odd Todd was scoring still more points, but Otto knew now that at least they had a fighting chance.

Dr. O appeared to believe in herself, too. Otto watched proudly as she threw two pairs of rings followed by another one in quick succession, tying her score with Todd's in a matter of seconds. _She's really good at this! We might actually beat him!_

Then he looked down at his own ten rings, still tightly clutched in his hand. _Except I still have zero points. And I'm hiding behind a rock again._

 _For odd's sake, this is pathetic._

"Otto, you can't win if you don't throw your rings!" Dr. O shouted at him as she deflected more lasers, seeming to read his mind.

 _Why does she even believe in me? I'm not Olive, I'm not like either of them!_ "But I can't get one of these around one of those!" he returned, frustrated. "I'm terrible at sports!"

She didn't back down. "Otto, if I stopped doing things I'm terrible at, I wouldn't be a doctor!"

 _That_ comment nearly gave him a turn. _Doesn't she remember she's on camera?_ he worried. _Why is Dr. O even telling me this? It could really hurt her career, couldn't it?_ "You probably shouldn't tell anyone that!"

Either she didn't care or she was ignoring him, but all she said next was, "Here comes a Robot Princess. _Throw!_ "

What happened next was a slow blur. Otto vaguely remembered running out from behind the ruins, then changing his mind and heading back the opposite direction at the sight of a Robot Princess looming in his face. He remembered pressing back against the wall and dropping his shield. He remembered Dr. O's words echoing through his mind: " _…you can't win if you don't throw your rings…!"_ He remembered…

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING!"

And suddenly there were no rings in his hand at all.

"Uh-oh," he heard Dr. O murmur. Following her gaze, he looked up.

Ten rings were flying through the air.

" _Uh-oh!_ " Otto echoed. Quickly he ran out from behind the wall to try and catch them before they landed—

 _CHING!_

—directly around the head of a Robot Princess.

 _I don't believe it…_

"Whoa! I got a hundred!"

Dr. O cheered. Odd Todd cried out in dismay. And Otto happily busted a move.

But the moment of triumph was short-lived…

Odd Todd's final ring got zapped into oblivion.

He suddenly developed a leg injury.

Dr. O set down her remaining ring and rushed to help.

DOCTOR NO IT'S A TRICK—!

 _CHING!_

Odd Todd grinned wickedly. "I'm cured! Thanks, Doc."

Otto watched as she looked down at his feet and back up to him again, her empty hand grasping for a ring that wasn't there, her body suddenly rigid. _Dr. O_ _…_ _lost…? No, that's not possible…_ Immediately he ran to her side. "That's cheating, that's CHEATING!"

"No."

They locked eyes.

"It's my fault," she said, sadly but calmly as ever. "Ms. O said in the rules that we had to hold onto our rings or someone else could take them. It's as simple as that."

 _No it's not! You don't deserve this, you can't settle for that!_ "But he tricked you, so it's not fa—"

"No."

"But the—"

"Doctor's orders."

Doctor's orders. Her doe brown eyes were firmly set, and the look she gave him seemed to want to say so many things.

And in that moment, it all dawned on Otto.

She looked away. Bracing herself for her elimination, Dr. O was enveloped in a swirl of golden colors and winked out of sight.

Angrily, Otto ignored Odd Todd's smug little celebration and walked away. Now it would just be the two of them in the final challenge. _Dr. O deserved this so much more than me,_ he thought, dejected. _She really did. But she took the road of compassion instead._

 _Because beneath it all, she cares for people. Because that's what doctors do._

 _Because she cares for me and she wants me to win._

 _And I think I care for her, too._

Otto set his jaw and looked back at Odd Todd. _I'll win for you, Doctor. I swear I'll win for you. I promise._


	34. The Revenant

**A/N Something I** _ **just**_ **realized the other day as I was posting the previous chapter is that by the time I'm done with this fanfiction, it'll have no more and no less than 43 chapters… #ToddSquadConfirmed**

 **Also, I think there's some kind of glitch going on with this site, because the five new reviews on the last chapter haven't been showing up, so I haven't been able to read them yet. So I'm sorry for not replying to your guys' reviews, I promise I will as soon as the site lets me see them!**

The Revenant

What Otto didn't realize during the O Games is just how much he had to thank Todd for. If it hadn't been for his injured leg trap, Otto would've taken a lot longer to realize Dr. O's feelings for him. In fact, the same was true for Olive and Oscar. Unbeknownst to them, it was Todd who'd planted the Blobisite in the first place, intentionally doing so exactly a week before he planned to make his grand debut as an official villain: on Monday, August 11…

* * *

It was supposed to be a routine case.

The poor giant ball of gum had been shrunken, stolen, and rechewed before, numerous times over the years. That was nothing new.

But never had it been reduced to exactly forty-three wads before.

Olive froze in dread. _It can't be…he's come back…oh please, no, he's come back…_ "It's Agent 43!" she muttered disbelievingly, staring at the impossible bronze sign on the ball of gum's marble pedestal.

"…Who?"

Otto was eyeing her bemusedly. She was going to have to explain. "Partner, I _need_ you to scan this room for oddness," she ordered, hoping with everything she had that it wasn't true.

All this got her was an even more clueless look. "Why?"

"Please," she whispered. "Trust me."

The begging worked, and obligingly Otto pulled out his Scaninator and began scanning the room as she'd asked. While Security Guard Betty clutched her swollen belly, Olive took a deep breath and tried her hardest to calm herself down. _Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's just a coincidence, and I'm only being paranoid._ But as the scanning went on, she felt more and more tense in an uneasy way she hadn't felt for over two years. Worse, there was a prickling feeling on the back of her neck like they were being watched. And when it was all added up, there was simply no way it could mean anything else. _What am I supposed to do? Only just last Friday when Otto ate the shrinking potato, I'd stopped Oscar from telling Otto and Oren about him because everything is confidential and taboo. So what now?_

The scan ended. "Nothing," Otto reported as he checked the display, completely oblivious to her turbulent thoughts. "Just us, the gum, and forty-three paintings."

Olive shook her head. Was the room supposed to have exactly that number of paintings? Or…

"Impossible," Betty cut in with a condescending smile. "There are only forty-two paintings in this room."

Under any other circumstances, Olive would've promptly put the museum security guard's attitude in check, but the woman had just confirmed her deepest fears. _This can't be a coincidence. The Scaninator is never wrong. If there's forty-three wads of gum left, and there's also forty-three paintings but there's only supposed to be forty-two…then…_ "…that means one of these paintings is—"

" _ME!_ "

Olive and Otto whirled around.

 _Oh, Lord help us…_

He'd… _changed_ since she'd last seen him. The uniform was still there, but it had exploded into so many odd colors that it was almost unrecognizable. His once sleek brown hair was now wild and untamed, and a crazy shock of white ran all the way from the back of his head down through the center of his eyebrow. But as she looked closer, there seemed to be something still very much the same about him that she couldn't put a finger on.

Dramatically tossing aside the red velvet curtain he'd used to hide his legs, he let out the evil cackle of Olive's nightmares. "That's right, Scribbles," he declared, as if reading her mind. "I'm back! You didn't think I was gonna be gone _forever,_ now did ya?"

Suddenly she realized what it was. _He hasn't aged. It's been two and a half years since he was fired and lost his badge, and I know for a fact he should be at least thirteen if not fourteen, yet he's still stalled at age eleven…_

And then she remembered.

 **[From "The Traitor":]** _ **Rather, she stopped seeing much of him at all, the one exception being a time when she had run into him in the break room tinkering on his badge with a palm tree screwdriver…**_

All at once it clicked. _He'd known he was going to get himself kicked off the squad from the moment he started turning odd. So what did he do? He figured out how to take what he needed from the badge. And what was that?_

 _The non-aging component._

He was speaking again. "No, of _course_ I had to come back sooner or later! I was only watching and waiting and planning for _you_ —" he gestured at Olive "—and _you_ —" he gestured at Otto "—to be good enough to come out and play."

Wide-eyed, Otto put a hand to his chest, clearly confused as to how a strange kid he'd never met before seemed to know exactly who he was. And though _he_ wasn't a stranger to Olive, she too was unsettled at the thought of Todd monitoring not just her, but her innocent new partner. In spite of her fear, she felt her anger growing.

"…Just watching and waiting and planning…" he was going on in an eerie crazed tone. "Watching and waiting and planning andwatchingand _planningandWAITING!_ "

That did it. "What'd you do with the ball of gum, Todd?" Olive demanded, too fed up to worry about lack of confidence.

But she forgot about Otto. "Wait," he murmured, "you know this guy?"

 _Oh, partner. I'd hoped I would never have to tell you about him._

Todd decided to interject before she could answer. "First things first, it's _Odd_ Todd now," he announced breezily. "Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta pop out for a second."

If she hadn't been so afraid, Olive might have rolled her eyes upon figuring out how he planned to escape. _Always had a penchant for annoying puns, now didn't you?_ And sure enough, 957 wads' worth of bubble gum blew out of his mouth, and with a resounding _pop_ that made Olive and Otto jump, he was gone, his faint cackle echoing everywhere.

This could only be the beginning. "We have to get back to headquarters and warn Ms. O!" Olive asserted, swiveling on her feet to bolt for the exit.

" _Wait!_ "

She skidded to a halt and turned to face her partner again. _Uh-oh…_

"Warn Ms. O about what? Who's Odd Todd?" Otto wanted to know, utterly at a loss.

 _That's a good question,_ Olive thought, her mind a churning turmoil of indescribable emotions and long-buried memories. _Who even_ _is_ _Todd to me? Friend, fill-in partner, wooer, bully, traitor? What on earth can I tell Otto? It's not like I could make things simple and just say he was my partner, because that was_ —

 _Oscar…_

Olive held her breath, and realized she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. What could she say after promising to keep her story with Oscar secret?

 _Could I make things simple?_

Without really thinking about it, the answer breathed its way out of her mouth.

"My old partner."

* * *

"Partner, slow down! Who's Todd?"

Olive _really didn't_ want to explain that right now. It was bad enough she had to stick with her lie about Todd's relationship to her. "I told you, he used to be my partner. Now he wants to make the world more odd—"

"No! I mean, how did Todd go from _that_ —" Otto flipped from Todd's agent photo to the security camera image caught on tape this morning "—to that?"

When she folded her arms and still didn't answer, he put an affectionate hand on her shoulder. "Look, I wanna help you. But I can't unless I know the whole story."

 _He's right. It's too late to keep Todd confidential anymore. I'll just alter some of the events so he won't suspect. And Otto always means well, that's for sure._ "Okay, fine," she agreed, if a little reluctantly. "Todd and I went through training together…"

"…that was the last time I saw my partner," she finished, unmistakably sad but trying to hide it with a shrug. "Until now."

Otto didn't say anything for awhile. She didn't blame him, it was a lot to take in. "I have two questions," he eventually said. "First, why do you keep calling that guy your partner?"

A cold chill of anxiety ran down Olive's spine. "Huh?" _He figured everything out, after all?_

He hadn't. "We solve problems differently, but we still do it together. That's what partners are for, helping each other. But Todd only helped himself," he pointed out, gesturing at the screen.

Olive could have sighed with relief. She'd only called him 'partner' multiple times to deflect the story away from Oscar. But Otto did have a point. Just like on the Monday before, _this_ piece of her past needed to move on, too. She couldn't let it control her any longer. "You're right," Olive agreed thoughtfully, folding her arms. "What was the second question?"

"If Todd is the best agent there ever was…" Now Otto looked worried, even as he said it, "…then how are we gonna beat him?"

Olive didn't answer right away. Turning to look at her pie-splattered image from that fateful day, she tried to block out the awful memories. Sharing them with Otto had certainly helped, and they didn't feel as overpowering to her anymore. But it would be a long time before she could let go of them completely, and her fear of pie would probably never completely go away. (At Ms. O's surprise birthday party later that year, Olive would still go rigid when Polly announced she'd put the results of the cake vote into a _pie_ chart, and both Otto and Oscar would have to discreetly squeeze her hands to remind her everything was okay.) "I dunno, partner," she murmured, turning away from her past displayed on the screen. "I dunno."

As they walked away, Todd's chilling laughter echoed through her mind. She shuddered.

* * *

"Oscar?"

It was after hours, and Olive had stayed behind to help Oscar finish the gadget inventory. With Otto gone and the two of them alone in headquarters, her self-assured, in-control, held-together facade dissolved, revealing just how scared she was. "Oscar? What are we going to do?"

Oscar was silent. He wasn't exactly sure what to say. The memory of that awful afternoon trapped in the flooding boiler room was still fresh in both of their minds, and neither of them were really ready to face a second opened can of worms in a single week. But the sight of terror sparkling in her beautiful eyes made him forget his reservations. Right now she was vulnerable. She needed someone who could comfort her, support her when so often she had to be the support herself.

Slowly he reached out and took her hands in his own.

Their eyes met.

 _Screw it, she needs more reassurance than that_ , Oscar thought, and at once he pulled her in and enfolded her tightly in his arms.

"I-I don't know," he whispered in her ear. "I don't know what we're going to do. But I know I won't let him come between the two of us. Never again."


	35. The Klutz

**A/N Realized after posting it that I'd accidentally left a whole section off the end of the last chapter, so I've gone back and added that in if y'all wanna take a look. Also, while we're on the topic, fair warning that in the next couple weeks this might happen quite a bit, as I normally spend at least a week writing a chapter, whereas now I only have one or two days. Thus I'll probably think of stuff I wanted to put in and add it at a later time after publication.**

 **In other news, I IS OFFICIALLY GRADUATED WOOT-WOOT!**

The Klutz

The O Games and the Ballcano Fiasco came and went, and for the moment, the terror of Odd Todd was held at bay. November 17, 2014 brought the Jackalope Awards, and with it came the few usual nominations: Oscar for Best Invented Gadget with his Switchinator, Olive for Best Solo Case-Solving Performance with the giant goldfish in the town harbor, Obfusco for Best Academy Teacher, and so on, none of whom actually ended up winning. But this year, to everyone's surprise, the Toronto chapter was actually trailing closely behind Montréal in the number of cases solved for the first time in years. This meant they were eligible to receive a nomination for the Most Solved Cases, and upon hearing the news, Ms. O suddenly became a whole lot more high-strung than usual. The pressure was on to, for the first time in the chapter's existence, win the biggest and most prestigious award at the Jackies.

The morning of, headquarters was in a frenzy. Agents were out everywhere scouring the town for oddness, and those still inside headquarters were either helping Assistants document and submit the day's cases as fast as possible or helping Security monitor their cameras for any new odd activity. No one wanted to be in any way responsible for throwing out this rare chance.

Least of all Agent Octavia.

With Oz absent on a long-term Invisibility case, Octavia had once again been left to her own devices. Working solo at such a crucial time, she had the sense of mind to know she couldn't afford to screw up a single case now—like the time she'd been sent with the Zeroinator to get rid of a hundred dozen donuts, but accidentally created 1,000 dozen donuts instead. So after watching to see where everyone else was going to scour the town for odd activity, she went to the one place no one had yet hit up: the supermarket.

"Afternoon, sir!" Octavia said cheerily when the manager answered her knock on his office door. "I'm Agent Octavia, from Odd Squad. Have you been having any odd activity around your store lately?"

The manager, a gruff older man, would've ordinarily shooed any Odd Squad agent out right then and there, dismissing them as nothing more than troublemaking kids, but her earnestness persuaded him otherwise. "Hmm…" he mused. "Not f'certain, but I've heard a coupla complaints from customers, sum'in' 'bout talking fruits. Feel free to go check it out."

"Okay, thank you, sir!" With that she made a beeline for the produce aisle and, starting with the cantaloupes, tapped on each fruit and called softly, "Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?"

Sure enough, just as she'd hoped, one of the cantaloupes answered back with, "Ouch! Watch where you poke your grubby little fingers, missy! And yes, I hear you clear as mud!"

Octavia didn't have time to wonder what that meant. Quickly she scooped up the irritated cantaloupe ("Wow, you're heavier than I thought!" "You calling me fat, girl?!") and hopped in the tubes, then skipped into Ms. O's office and set it down on her desk. "Ms. O, I got something!"

Ms. O looked blankly at the fruit, then at her.

 _Just wait till I explain._ "It's heavier than most cantaloupes, _aaaaaannnd_ —"

"That's not _odd_ , Octavia!" Ms. O cut her off, exasperated.

 _You didn't let me finish yet!_ "But Ms. O, it's a—"

"But nothing! Get out there and find some odd!"

Oscar was looking at her with arms folded in disapproval. Realizing neither of them were going to believe her, Octavia sighed and ran out of the room. _But the only place I can go right now is the supermarket, with more talking fruit,_ she thought. _Does that mean Ms. O won't listen to me again?_

 _And why doesn't she think I'm actually doing a case right this time?_

The purple desk phone rang as she left, and she thought she heard Oren's voice on the other end. "Excellent work, Agent Oren," Ms. O said. "Fix it, and that's one more case solved."

Octavia tried so hard not to feel crestfallen.

It didn't help matters when she later found a talking pineapple and deposited it on Ms. O's desk, only for the boss to yell at her, " _I don't need a pineapple!_ " followed by a restatement of "Get out there and bring me something odd!" Though discouraged at this point, Octavia knew she had to get back to the supermarket and double-check the remaining three fruit displays for more talking fruit. Surely Ms. O would listen to her the next time, anyhow.

No such luck. After bringing in a talking coconut, mango, and peach, not only did Ms. O still not let her explain, she also nearly embarrassed her in front of five other prominent agents when she yelled, "Octavia! _Why_ do you keep bringing me food?!"

Luckily, the coconut inadvertently came to her rescue. "Yeah, seriously. What am I even doing here?"

Ms. O jumped to her feet in shock. "Did that coconut just talk to me?"

Octavia could have cheered. She was listening now! Not only that, but so were Olive, Otto, Oscar, Olaf, and… _Oren_. "Yes! Ms. O, that's what I've been trying to tell you!" she exclaimed happily. "All these fruit—they all talk!"

Even better, having found five fruits and thus five odd cases, it was Octavia who had ever so slightly pushed the Toronto squad into the lead, right at the cutoff time. Which meant for the first time ever, they had finally won a Jackie Award. As everyone began cheering, jumping up and down, and chanting "We won a Jackie!" over and over again, Octavia caught Oren's eye.

Later, as everyone scuttled out of the office to get ready for the awards ceremony that night, Oren approached her. "So," he said with that slight perpetual smirk of his, "something good finally happened to you, I see."

Octavia blushed. What was that supposed to mean?

As if hearing her thoughts, Oren hurriedly explained, "You said at the O Games that nothing good ever happens to you. But now something did."

 _He knows I said that?_ she wondered. _But he hadn't even been eliminated and sent back yet._ "Oh yeah, I guess I did say that." She bit her lip. "I mean, it almost didn't. Today. No one listened to me when I tried to tell them about the talking fruit, until the coconut spoke up for me."

Oren's expression was unreadable. He looked like he was about to say something else, but at that moment Olaf ran back and grabbed his hand. "Partner get ready!" he yelled, dragging a surprised Oren out of the office.

Octavia watched them go. Was it just her, or was Oren being way nicer than usual?

And why did she feel so much more _flustered?_

* * *

Nine and a half weeks earlier, on August 30, Oren got the chance of a lifetime.

And blew it.

A sinking feeling took form in his gut as Oren watched Odd Todd count the number of centigurps he had summoned. "Five on this arm, five on that arm, five on each leg, and five on my head!" With all twenty-five of the centigurps he needed to move on, Todd gave Oren a simpering smile that seemed to say, _And guess who gets eliminated, just like I told you._

There went his dream of becoming Ms. O for a day.

Worse, their archvillain was one step closer to shutting down Odd Squad, and Oren had allowed himself to get too distracted to stop him.

After an upset snap and stamp of his foot, Oren was surrounded with a swirl of colors and suddenly found himself back in headquarters and back in his uniform. Angry, mortified, and not really thinking about what he was doing, he instinctively threw a temper tantrum. "NO NO _NO! ARGGHHH!_ "

Crossing his arms in a pouting gesture, Oren suddenly became aware that he was surrounded by all the other agents in headquarters, who were now awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

Except for one.

Octavia clearly felt just as awkward as the rest, but that didn't stop her from giving him a look of compassion. When he noticed her, however, she too looked away.

If anything, that made him feel even more sheepish than his little immaturity slip.

 _She didn't even get to compete in the O Games at all,_ he realized. _We were both victims of his cheating, but Todd eliminated her before she even got the chance to participate. I was luckier than she was._

 _So really, I have no right to complain._

Thus, for the remaining two challenges of the O Games, Oren resolved to be good-mannered and supportive like the rest. He (a bit reluctantly) shared his popcorn with Agent O'Leary, cheered on his co-workers while booing for Odd Todd, and joyfully threw his popcorn _everywhere_ when Otto ended up winning (even if he was Olive's partner and Oren still liked to make fun of his name).

However, afterward, while Ms. O was helping Otto get settled into her office for the remainder of the day, Oren caught himself feeling jealous again. _Alright, now stop it,_ he forced himself to think. _Otto beat Odd Todd and that's what matters. There's nothing that says you won't get to compete in the O Games again another year._

Oren furrowed his brow, surprised at himself. This was a new feeling. Was he actually acting… _gracious?_

For some reason he thought of Octavia.

* * *

Two mornings after the Jackie Awards (Ms. O had cancelled work the previous day to celebrate), Oren happened to wander by the break room and saw Octavia, apparently sitting at the table alone. Telling himself he felt hungry, he started to head towards the empty seat, but stopped himself when he remembered that her partner Oz was invisible now, and he didn't want to risk putting himself in an awkward spot. But luckily, Octavia happened to look up at that moment and smiled at him. "It's okay, Oren! You can come sit down, there's no one else here."

"Oh! Thanks." Briskly Oren made his way to the table and sat down across from her. But he didn't reach for something to eat. "Where's Oz at?"

Octavia cocked her head and gave him a strange look. "He's on a long-term invisibility mission," she replied warily. "Seems to have a lot of those these days. Why?"

Oren shrugged. "Just wondered why your partner wasn't with you, that's all. I assumed he was just now, that's why I didn't come to sit down."

"Oh. Okay."

There was a slight pause. "So, um, is Oz really always gone a lot?"

"Look, what does it matter to you?" Octavia said abruptly, her voice indignant but her eyes hurt and sad. "You don't care about other people, you never have, so why should you now? I see you insult Olive and Otto every day, you're lazy and you don't like work, and you just like being a—a—"

"A what?"

"A _jerk!_ " Her eyes went wide and she clapped a hand to her mouth. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to say that."

"No, it's alright. I mean, you're not wrong." For the most part Oren felt strangely calm about her accusations, but a fractional part of him was the tiniest bit unsettled that she thought so. "But say I started caring now. Does Oz leave you to go solo a lot?"

Octavia was skeptical. "How do I know you won't use anything I say to embarrass me?"

Oren pressed his lips together in a flat line. "You don't, I guess."

"You're not wrong," she echoed with a smile, and he smiled back. She seemed to take the honest moment as a swear to secrecy, and told him. "Sometimes on missions, yes, but…sometimes he leaves just because he wants to. I mean, he's invisible now, no one really keeps track of him, so I never really know where he is…"

The sad look in her eyes was back. Glancing at the lab, Oren was reminded of the time when he'd sneeringly looked on as Olive and Oscar grew distant, before the scientist's promotion. "Did something happen between you two?" he pressed.

Octavia nodded. "We've always been good friends, and once we were partners, we thought we had something more. But since he turned invisible…well, things have never been the same." She looked up at Oren with those vulnerable brown eyes. "I ended up rejecting him, I think. And I think it hurt him. Really badly. And ever since…"

She trailed off again. Oren watched her, not really sure what to say, or even think. He was seeing Octavia in a different light than he did most agents, and he wasn't sure if he liked it or not. Up until recently, he'd dismissed it as a mere lack of quarrel between them—she'd never particularly done anything to irritate or upset him, so he didn't see any point in actively teasing her or making snide comments about her. But lately, Oren had started to notice how other agents treated her—just because she was a little ditzy and klutzy some of the time, they assumed Octavia wasn't the most competent of agents. So while typically nice to her, they didn't always expect her to understand things. (In particular he'd seen this when Olive, Otto, and Oscar got frustrated with Octavia because she couldn't understand what to Oren sounded likewise like a rather confusing case regarding something called a Timetastrophe.) And just the other day, it hadn't taken a whole lot of prying from Oscar to find out exactly what had happened when she'd brought the cantaloupe and then the pineapple into Ms. O's office, and not a whole lot of logic after that for him to piece the information together with what he'd seen when she'd brought in the coconut, mango, and peach. Now, with this new bit about Oz, Oren was beginning to feel another strange, foreign feeling for her: pity.

And something else, too…

"Well, you're not the only one who's had a falling-out with your partner," he smirked. "Olaf and I had the exact same thing happen to us last spring."

She looked up sharply at him. "You two are…?"

"Olaf says he is. I'm not. It was bound to go bad sometime." Oren sighed. "We're still working together just fine, but I dunno if we'll ever be as good of friends again."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

There was another awkward silence. Oren thought back to his musings from a moment ago. _It's just like with the O Games—Octavia's got it worse than I do, her partner isn't even around half the time. No one should have to do all that work on their own and then not get recognized for it. She needs someone to go to, someone to look up to for help._

 _And boy, is she cute._

Oren caught his breath. _I didn't think that, I didn't think that, I didn't think that._ "So, um…hehe, I guess neither of us have a close friend anymore."

"Mm-hmm. Guess so."

"Do you, um, feel like making a friend today?"

Octavia didn't look wary this time. "Sure, Oren," she said, a slight giggle in her voice.

"Okay, cool." He couldn't help it, a little chuckle snuck its way into his voice. "Let's start with things we like. Weird hobby confessions?"

"Well…" She glanced guiltily at her desk. "I like relaxing in my fancy chair."

"It's okay, mine is staring at my reflection in the mirror."

They both laughed. "My turn. Favorite food?" Octavia asked.

"Anything, as long as it's not pancakes."

"What's wrong with pancakes?"

Oren cringed. "Story for another time."

"Okay. Mine is pan-seared tuna salad."

"Where'd you learn to be so fancy?"

They both laughed again. "Okay, what about favorite…book?" Oren asked.

"The _Henry Skreever_ series."

"No kidding, me too!"

"Really?" Octavia squealed. "I thought no one else at Odd Squad liked it! Everyone I know says it's just a ripoff of _Harry Potter_."

"Oh, but they're so different! Henry's key scar has magical properties that Harry's lightning bolt scar doesn't have, and Lord Moldywart has a _completely_ different background and motive from Lord Voldemort."

"Plus there's the quest for the Brick of Wonder!" Octavia broke in. "I once heard someone say it was like finding the horcruxes, but it isn't like that at all! See, it takes three whole books for him to even find its whereabouts, and the magic carpet is such a game-changer…"

* * *

Meanwhile, back at his own desk, Olaf watched the two agents deep in conversation.

Discreetly he clapped his hands together in delight. Now _he_ had an OTP to ship.

Plus, he was secretly relieved that, with Oren's interest in Octavia, things wouldn't have to be awkward between them anymore.

Especially since now he could tell his partner about his _own_ new interest…


	36. The Couple(s)

**A/N Here's an inside look at my brain right now, after writing this nearly 6,000 word chapter in less than 24 hours:**

 **[deep breath] HHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG**

 **This has been an inside look at my brain. Thank you. Now continue reading.**

The Couple(s)

If there was one thing Olive didn't like about getting back together with Oscar, it was that she now had to _fake_ being exasperated with him.

See, both of them had agreed not to tell Otto about their newfound relationship. But in order to do that, they couldn't just immediately start acting friendly again after a whole year of trying to avoid each other. Neither of them were particularly happy about it—Oscar had to go with indifferent earnestness while Olive mild to moderate irritation—mainly because they had gotten tired of it when these were _real_ feelings with a _real_ reason behind them. And now that they had made up and gotten together, it was kind of a drag not to be able to express their excitement about it.

But as time went on, they found ways to be subtle. A couple weeks after Odd Todd made his big reveal but before he appeared again at the O Games, Olive and Oscar had the opportunity to test their acting abilities when Olive got flattened by Fladam. Right away, Oscar had to restrain himself from running over to see if she was alright—not only would it have looked suspicious to Otto, but it probably would have been genuinely annoying and patronizing to Olive. So he settled for methodically but slightly nervously selecting his 3D-inator and using it on her.

Unfortunately, due to the nature of the way she had been flattened, it didn't work. "Sorry, Olive," he sighed. "The only way to get you back is to get Fladam's 2-D glasses."

Otto shot him a look. "2-D?"

"The D stands for dimensions. When something is 3-D, it has three dimensions—height, width, and depth. Kinda like this cube here!"

Flat Olive narrowed her eyes. She didn't recognize the gadget he was holding.

Neither did Otto. "Cool! What does that thing do?"

"It holds my retainer," Oscar matter-of-factly answered.

 _Ohhh, right,_ Olive remembered. _He got his retainer after his braces came off several years back._

Not that Otto knew Oscar had ever had braces. "Huh. I didn't know you wore one."

"Well, mainly at night, but my orthodontist would _prefer_ if I wore one 24/7—"

"Ahem?" Olive got their attention again. Acting or no, they were getting off topic. So Oscar quickly went on to explain how Olive was 2-D and not 3-D, but none of it was helping anything. "Ugh, I'm so upset!" she cried, turning away.

Suddenly there were shouts of alarm from the boys. "OLIVE! WHERE'D YOU GO?!"

"Huh?" Olive quickly looked down at herself. _Do they think I've turned invisible or something? I'm pretty sure I can still see myself._

"You just disappeared," Otto gasped.

 _What are they talking about?_ "No, I didn't disap—" _Wait a minute, I think I know what's going on here._ Sure enough, turning back to face them, she saw the relief on their faces. "I'm two-dimensional, remember? I have heighth and width, but no depth. That means I have no thickness. So when I turn, it's hard to see me."

Olive easily recognized the thoughtful look on Oscar's face that followed, and she knew he was about to make one of his not-exactly-acceptable remarks. _Oh, goodness, I hope he doesn't decide to make a fat joke about what I just said. We did say acting, but that'd be pushing it._

He didn't, thankfully. "Y'know," he speculated, "if we can't turn you back, that's a pretty cool trick, heh!"

 _Haha, that probably wasn't even acting._ Olive wanted to laugh at his honest opinion, but caught herself just in time and managed to turn it into a groan. _Good thing being 2-D distorts my movements, otherwise I might not have gotten away with that._

Oscar cleared his throat and started fidgeting. "We'll t-turn you back, ahem."

At that moment Otto jumped in and got them back on track again with an idea of how to corner Fladam and get his glasses. After eliminating Oscar's retainer cube as an option for bait, Otto ran out of the lab to find six similar-sized squares. "Hurry up!" Olive called after him, then looked at Oscar. "Were you actually acting, or was that real?" she said in a low voice.

"Um…a bit of both, maybe?"

Olive gave him a 2-D grin. "That's what I thought. Good job, though. This whole thing might be easier than I hoped." She grimaced. "If only it didn't hurt so much that I can't put my arms down…"

It was nice, then, that they later got a lucky break when Ms. O took Otto up to witness the beginning of Fladam's sensory cube therapy, leaving Oscar alone to cure Olive with the hot-wired 2-D glasses. Of course, they had to go up and rejoin the other two _sometime_. But for one perfect moment, they didn't have to worry about acting.

* * *

"…And _that's_ what happened to Octavia's partner."

"Yup. Turned him invisible the rest of his life," Olive finished, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms.

Otto shook his head and tsked. "Kinda sad he had to leave Odd Squad 'cuz of an accident."

Olive frowned. "He didn't leave."

"…What?"

"Oz used his invisibility to his advantage," she explained. "Now, he's one of the best agents on the squad." _If one of the loneliest,_ she added to herself. _Poor guy._

Then a movement across the foyer caught her eye. _Is he back? I think he's finally back!_ "Look," she said to Otto, pointing as Oz sneezed and Octavia hopped up to grab him a tissue.

Otto stared at them in amazement. "An invisible agent…"

Olive had to smile at her partner's naïvety. "Oh, he's not the only one. I'd estimate there are about a hundred invisible agents here." She fought not to laugh at his reaction, remembering her own similar one the first time Oscar had told her about them.

Speaking of Oscar…

 _I still need to pick up a new Toothbrushinator from the lab,_ she remembered. _If there's one thing I love about Odd Squad, it's the great dental gadgets._ Looking up, she waved at Oscar across the way and slid out of her chair, leaving Otto to ponder further on the matter of invisible agents.

 _Funny how I used to be annoyed at Oscar for how calm he could be during a crisis,_ Olive reflected as she made her way to the lab. _Yet it was his level-headedness that saved Octavia and Oz from the black hole._ "Hey, Oscar!" she greeted the scientist at his work table, noticing he had an unfamiliar gadget in his hands. "What are you making?"

"It's an Un-Basket-of-Yarn-inator, heh!" he answered proudly, plucking the little strand of yarn on top.

"Oh." She nodded slowly. "Um, what's it for?"

"No idea! I just build something and it sort of works out!" came the reply. As a matter of fact, they subsequently got an unexpected demonstration when Agent O'Malley wandered in with his head turned into a basket of yarn. After fixing it, Oscar set the gadget down and turned back to Olive. "Now, what can I do you for?"

Olive started, shaken from her thoughts of being impressed by Oscar's gadget-building intuition and serendipity. "Oh! Um, yeah! Do you have any more Toothbrushinators?"

"Uh, yeah…" he answered, turning back around to check the display on the wall behind him. "Yeah, I've got about twenty of them! Right next to that photo of me as a Tube Operator."

"Wait, _what?_ " Olive gaped at the photo, depicting her former partner in a Maintenance uniform and with a ginger mullet. "You used to be a Tube Operator?" _How many secrets are there about you that I still don't know?_ she thought, a little stung.

"Oh, yeah! It was before you joined the squad," he explained, a little sheepishly. "D-did I never tell you about this?"

In the absence of anyone to pretend for, his guilt was all she needed to forgive him. "It's alright," she smiled. "I just told Otto the story of how Oz became invisible, so now it's my turn to hear a story today."

Oscar smiled back, reassured. "Oh! Good. Well, in that case, I remember it like it was yesterday…"

* * *

If there was one thing Otto didn't like about his developing interest in Dr. O, it was not knowing how to talk to her about it.

See, whether she knew she was doing this or not, the doctor had such a quirky mode of conversing that it was impossible to explain nearly anything not medically-related to her. Or at least, it was hard for Otto to find the words that would make sense for him to say to her, in his own ears. On the day Ms. O and Oscar switched bodies and Dr. O came close to figuring out what had happened, Otto got so nervous upon seeing her that he could barely force out the words, "I-I-I'm Olive!" (Although on the plus side, he learned one of her favorite foods was pickles, after unicorn tears.) Then later, on the Eve of the 2015 New Year, he had a completely opposite reaction when Dr. O finished his sentence, and felt pretty proud that she approved of his idea enough to reverse her own pink goo prescription for Olive. But he could never bring himself to mention this to her. At the end of the day, it seemed to Otto that he just couldn't make up his mind on how to act around the doctor, let alone how to say he liked her back.

In a way, his first attempt at this had been two weeks before the New Year's Eve countdown crook incident. That evening after work, Otto had been out on the town buying some last-minute Christmas gifts in one of Toronto's more prominent shopping plazas, when he noticed a familiar figure with her face pressed against the window of a toy store. Keeping at a distance so she wouldn't notice him, he looked out of the corner of his eye at Dr. O, hair down and wearing a brown winter coat instead of her uniform, gazing at a teal bike on display inside the shop. He suddenly recalled her mentioning to Olive on the day Ori ran off that she did a little babysitting on the side to save up for a bike, and this must've been the bike she was referring to. But instead of going in to purchase it as he assumed she would, he watched Dr. O heave a sad sigh and trudge away through the snow.

The pitiful sight made Otto feel sad, too. Quickly he checked his pockets. _I think I have enough money left over to chip in for half the purchase,_ he thought, and reached for his badge phone to dial the number 56. "Oscar? Feel like helping me buy a bike for Dr. O's Christmas present?"

That had been months ago. Today, he decided enough was enough.

"Um, hey, Doctor," he said, leaning against the doorframe of her office. "How's it going for you these days?"

Dr. O looked up at him and immediately looked back down at her work. "Fine, thank you, doctor. Except when I was interrogated today, that was not fine."

"Oh." Otto cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, um, listen, I'm sorry about that, really. It's just that we had to go through our entire list of suspects, and you were here, so…" When Dr. O didn't react, he kept going. "To be honest, I never thought you stole Obfusco's moustache. None of the evidence ever pointed to you."

She looked back up and squinted a little. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. I mean, there wasn't any reason for you to steal it. You didn't have many arguments with him and you solved plenty of cases on your own, without any lucky charms." As he'd been talking, Otto found himself inching farther into the room, closer to the doctor's desk.

"Medical cases," Dr. O corrected softly, not taking her eyes off him. "I don't solve cases out in the field. I'm a doctor, not a…not an agent."

Abruptly she stood up right as Otto stopped at the front of her desk. They were staring at each other eye-to-eye now.

"I mean…I used to be a field agent…but…"

Otto searched for the words to say, but found none. Not even a doctor-related joke. _She probably wouldn't understand it anyhow,_ he thought. _Not if she doesn't have time for jokes or anything not serious enough—_

"Opal."

"Hunhwhat?"

"Opal. That's my real name. I was Agent Opal before I was Dr. O. But we used the first letter of my last name, P, so my badge could add up to 60 and I wouldn't have the same number as…Nurse Otha…"

"Opal, huh?" Otto smiled at her. "That's a really pretty name. Like the gemstone. It sort of fits you, I think."

"What do you mean?" The usual clipped curtness was gone from her voice.

"Have you ever seen an opal?" When she shook her head, Otto explained. "They look a bit plain and boring white on the outside, but when you hold them up to the light, you can see the rainbow of colors on the inside." Slowly, afraid she might flinch away, he reached out and brushed her hand. "Opals are also kinda like snowflakes. No two are alike. Each one has its own unique color combination."

"But you'd never know unless you took the time to hold them up to the light and look on the inside," she whispered. Then she blinked, and part of her professional demeanor returned. "How do you know all this, anyhow?" she wanted to know, drawing her hand back a little.

"My cousin was born in October, and it's her birthstone. She likes telling me about that kind of stuff." Taking a chance, Otto reached out again, but this time he took her hand in his and squeezed it. "And I'm glad she did." After hesitating a moment, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves and said, "Doctor, can I ask you something?"

"You can call me Opal here."

"Okay then, Opal. Can I ask if you…I mean, I think…do you… _like_ me?"

Dr. O—Opal—inhaled sharply. Her doe eyes, a kind of watery muddy color that Otto rather liked, held a sort of fear and uncertainty inside them. "I'm a doctor, not a lover."

"Yes or no, Opal."

She exhaled and looked down at the floor. "Yes."

Otto felt a rushing sensation inside of him, good or bad he didn't know. _What could someone so serious possibly see in someone so silly?_ he wondered, scarcely daring to believe what she'd said. _And what could I, someone so silly, possibly see in her, someone so serious?_

"How long have you known?"

"Since the O Games," he told her, taking his other hand and putting it on top of theirs. "That's when I started…um, y'know, liking you, too."

"Oh." Opal pressed her lips together. "Look, Otto, I know we're both kids, but—"

"Hey, _Sherman!_ "

Just like that Opal jerked her hands away and sat back down, trying to look like she was hard at work. Otto swiveled around—and groaned. "Hi, Orchid. And how long have you been standing there?"

The feisty seven-year-old rival agent giggled mischievously. "Long enough, that's for sure." She winked. "But don't worry, _I_ won't tell on you. Not yet, anyways." And with that she skipped away, humming to herself.

The moment between them ruined, Otto quietly left the office, while Opal continued on with her deskwork. Both of them hoping neither had noticed how flushed they were.

Meanwhile, Orchid was smug. _Let them think I might blackmail them. After all, they don't know about_ _my_ _secret…_

* * *

If there was one thing Oscar didn't like about reconciling with Olive, it was that he had to be super careful about where and when to _show_ it.

At first, between her Investigational work and his adviser and lab duties, there wasn't much time to spend together anyhow, and it was easier to keep up the pretense. But now, like Olive, he found the whole acting thing to be more and more of a drag as the months went on. It was now late spring, early summer of 2015, and as far as they knew, neither Otto nor Ms. O had a clue about what was going on between the two of them. Even though they were no longer nearly as strict about keeping it hidden, and they were more open about portraying a typical friendship where Oscar only annoyed Olive every now and then.

One of these times was the day Polly supposedly quit her lemonade stand, on June 8th. After collecting testimony from Todd and "evidence" from Polly, Olive and Otto brought the bar graphs back to Oscar for him to verify with the Truth-Snifferinator. As he hooked up the gadget, Oscar spotted Olive glancing at Otto with a look of satisfaction, which made him feel very proud indeed. But a few moments later as he ran the gadget, he also saw her flinch and roll her eyes at him, as if she'd never seen the gadget used before. Since Oscar knew that was definitely not true, he could tell she was acting.

Of course, she definitely wasn't acting when he reported, "I'm sorry, but the information on these graphs…is true," and they both gasped in shock. "That's impossible!" Olive contended.

"The Truth-Snifferinator never messes up," Oscar disagreed. "Unless it catches a cold."

Both agents clearly didn't like that. "I don't know," Otto surmised, a little reluctantly. "Maybe Odd Todd was telling the truth. Maybe…he _actually_ sells lemonade now."

Olive shook her head. "But Todd _never_ does anything normal," she argued, starting to pace toward Oscar. "His goal is to spread oddness at all costs!"

Nobody knew what to say to that, so they all stayed silent and thought hard. Then a movement and a popping sound caught Oscar's attention, and he looked up. "Um, Olive? Do you think it has to do with Otto's lemon head?"

She whirled around—and gasped. Otto started making muffled screams and clutching his new lemon head in a panic. Remembering how Olive's hearing problems made her good with languages, Oscar asked her, "What's he saying?"

"Todd's lemonade is so sour, it's making heads turn into lemons!" came the worried reply. "Don't worry partner, I'll fix this!"

More lemon noises.

"I know," she said sympathetically, "I feel the same way." And without another word she hurried off toward the Tubes.

Oscar watched her go. "Aw, man," he remarked, a little jealous. "I wish I could speak lemon." So as Otto kept making his desperate lemon noises, Oscar didn't know what to say back. Instead, now that Olive was gone, he ran through the events of the past few minutes in his head to make sure Otto couldn't've seen anything. _Nope, we're good. Olive acted both annoyed and indifferent, but not too much of each._

That had been on June 8th. Two weeks before, however, on May 26th, was another story…

* * *

"Oscar, meet 21-year-old Olive."

Oscar glanced up—and did a double take. Standing in front of him was someone who looked like his Olive, but…older. And taller. And… _helpless._ "Olive! Is that _you?_ "

Even as he said it, the reality of what had happened to her sank in. _Oh my God, no,_ he thought, his mind a mix of horror and guilt. _The Flip-Floppernator—my gadget—it did that to her?_

 _Because it can flip any number. Including ages._

 _And I let it fall into the wrong hands._

"Please tell me you can fix this," Olive pleaded, her lower grownup voice making her sound tired and without much hope.

And he was going to have to confirm her fears. "I've tried everything," he lamented, setting down the gadget he'd been inspecting. "The only way we can get you back," with some effort he looked up— _up_ , he wasn't used to that—and met her eyes, "is to get the Flip-Floppernator back."

Olive looked away and exhaled. Any hope she'd had was gone. It tugged at Oscar's heartstrings to see her so dejected like this.

Things were about to get worse, too. "In the meantime," Ms. O said, holding out her hand, "I need your badge."

" _WHAT?!_ " Olive and Otto blurted out simultaneously.

"Odd Squad is kids only, and right now, you are not that." Her voice softened a little. "I'm sorry, but those are the rules."

Biting her lip, Olive dutifully pulled her badge off and handed it to Ms. O, staring at the floor in shame the entire time.

 _Oh, Olive…_ Suddenly Oscar felt a deep anger toward Odd Todd. That twisted monster of an agent was responsible for all of this, in the end. Way back when, in their partner days, Oscar had tried to explain to Olive how he didn't trust him, and long since had he been proven right. It wasn't safe for Todd to be so obsessed with her as he was. _Look where that got us._

Meanwhile, Orchid was explaining to Ms. O how she couldn't go fight Todd for fear of turning seventy instead of seven, and subsequently brought out her 81-year-old grandpa to explain why he couldn't, either. For a moment, Oscar wasn't sure whether to be shocked at the fact she'd somehow snuck her grandpa into HQ, or that the old man had no interest whatsoever in being eighteen again. But then that got him thinking. _Is it possible anyone could stop Todd at all, if he's got the Flip-Floppernator? Olive's already been hit, Orchid would turn too old, poor Otto would become a baby again, Ms. O I'm afraid to think about what might happen, and me—_

 _Wait a minute…_

"I can stop Odd Todd," he announced.

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at him, plus the rest of the squad outside the lab.

Oscar clicked his remote to pull up the number 11 on the lab screen. "I'm eleven," he explained. "There's a one in the tens place and a one in the ones place. Even if you flip it, eleven _still stays_ eleven." He grinned. "Odd Todd can't do anything to me!"

The look in Olive's eyes—still a beautiful golden-brown—held worlds. _You would do that for me?_ she seemed to say.

Ms. O looked skeptical. "I don't know…"

Orchid's grandpa spoke up. "Give the kid a chance," he said with a wise old smile.

It was all he needed to convince her. "Even though you being here is wrong," Ms. O conceded, "What you're saying is right." She turned back to the scientist. "Go get 'em, Oscar!"

Amidst cheers, applause, and a clenched fist from Olive, Oscar steeled himself and theatrically dashed out to find Todd.

Or, rather, first to go to the nearest grocery store. _Gotta have something to fight him with,_ he thought, the gears in his scientist's brain turning as he came up with a plan.

The better part of an hour later, Oscar found himself standing on the corner of quaint little Oak Street, watching Odd Squad's arch nemesis torment an innocent civilian who just wanted to order a pizza. _I can't let him keep doing this,_ he told himself bravely, trying to muster up some courage. _Who knows what havoc Todd could eventually wreak with that gadget?_

"Stop, Odd Todd."

Todd stopped mid-cackle and slowly turned to face him, those piercing blue eyes cold as ice. Oscar realized he was clutching the lapels of his lab coat and fidgeting, an old nervous habit of his. For some reason, he couldn't convince himself he was only doing this to hide the magnet vest.

"Agent…" Todd cocked his head, "…Oscar?"

Oscar fought to get his fidgeting under control.

"What an _odd_ choice, to send against me." He grinned wickedly. "I love it."

With considerable effort Oscar peeled his hands away from his lapels. "Just, um…hand over the Flip-Floppernator and…n-nobody g-gets hurt." He winced at how weak his words sounded, even to him. _Come on, Oscar. Olive's got more of a reason to be scared of Todd, and she'd never act_ _this_ _scared._

Never taking his eyes off the scientist, Odd Todd strode out into the middle of the street and planted his multicolored feet on the pavement. "Don't make me laugh," he sneered, and proceeded to cackle again as he whipped up the gadget and fired.

Oscar squeezed his eyes shut. _Be brave, Oscar. It can't hurt you._

 _At least, I hope it can't._

The zapping noise stopped. "Wh-what?" he heard Todd say, smacking his hand against the gadget.

Oscar opened his eyes.

"It won't work on me," Oscar explained, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I'm eleven."

Todd scrambled for a retort. "Th-then I'll f-flip something else, like…oh!" He fired the gadget again, nearly causing Oscar to jump back. "The size of your pants, so they'll become big and fall out, haha!"

Instinctively Oscar looked down, scared of what he might (or might not) find, but nothing about his pants had changed. _Close one, too,_ he thought to himself. _I should've remembered to check my clothing size or any other numbers before I came here._ Not that he planned to let Todd know about his little slip. "My pants are size eleven, too. Roomy, but not overly so!" he added, with what he thought was a tough gangster's flourish. (He later demonstrated for Olive and all he got for her reaction was a facepalm—and _not_ a pretend one.)

Odd Todd growled in frustration.

Emboldened, Oscar decided to take advantage of Todd's little unforeseen difficulty, and snagged the upper hand before the latter could think of anything else to flip-flop. "I also brought twenty-two tomatoes," he declared, whipping out the brown grocery bag he'd just gotten and reaching inside to grab the first thick, plump, juicy tomato. He set his jaw, squared his shoulders, and took aim.

The Flip-Floppernator fizzled, and the first glint of panic appeared in Todd's icy eyes.

 _This is what you get for thinking you can mess with Olive. For taking away her kid honor and replacing it with grownup shame._

THWAP!

"Aaugh!"

"It won't change."

 _For taking away her love of pies and replacing it with fear and loathing._

THWAP!

"D'Aaugh!"

"Whatever you do—"

 _For taking away her name and replacing it with only Scribbles._

THWAP!

"Aaraugh!"

"—there—"

 _Don't—_

THWAP!

"—will—"

— _you—_

THWAP!

"—always—"

— _dare—_

THWAP!

"—be—"

— _hurt—_

THWAP!

"—twenty—"

— _my—_

THWAP!

"—two!"

— _girl!_

THHHWAPPP! ! !

"Yaugh!" Todd was shielding himself and whimpering.

But Oscar wasn't done yet. "Same with this vest I made out of ninety-nine magnets," he said in a low tone, and there could be no mistaking the unpitying hardness in his voice. Ripping off his lab coat and casting it aside, Oscar straightened the magnetic vest he had expertly sewn together.

The glint of panic in Todd's eyes had morphed into full-on dread. "Oh no."

"Oh-hoh, yes."

 _And this…_

Down went the switch.

 _…this is what you get…_

With a zap and an electric whine, the magnetic (as all his gadgets were) Flip-Floppernator was tugged forward. Todd shrieked through his grit teeth and tried to hold on.

 _…for ever thinking…_

Finally, there was a _shiiing_ noise as the gadget freed itself and flew into the magnet vest.

 _…that you could degrade her, insult her, traumatize her…_

The sudden release sent Todd flying backward and he hit the pavement. Hard.

 _…and take advantage of her…_

Oscar pulled up the switch and took the gadget in hand. He then stepped forward until he towered tall over the pathetic, cowering Todd.

 _…without me hearing about it._

"Go home, Todd," he spat, about to pull the ultimate insult any Odd Squad agent could give another: "Tell your family you love 'em."

Odd Todd didn't hesitate. Stripped of his weapon and his dignity, he got up and took off running. Far, far away from tomato-splattered Oak Street.

 _Just try and mess with Olive again. Just try._

 _Because next time you do, you'll have me to answer to._ _And I won't be this nice again._

Oscar watched until he was out of sight.

Then all the courage left him, and he nearly collapsed. "Phew! So glad that's over," he gasped out, utterly relieved.

 _On second thought, please don't come back_ _that_ _soon._

* * *

Oscar wasn't exactly sure what was going to happen as soon as he reversed Olive's age back to normal. Meaning, he didn't know how she would react with Otto and Ms. O around, considering _her_ in relationship to _him_.

The first thing she did after checking to make sure she was all completely back was to exclaim, "Yes!" in both an excited and relieved voice. Based on that, Oscar decided she was going to go with the impartial, generic reaction, so he too went generic and reacted like the others.

Next was Otto. "Glad to have you back, partner," he said with a broad grin, to which Olive put her hands on her hips, grinned back and replied, "It's good to be back." Yup, still generic.

Then she looked at him.

"Thank you, Oscar," she said, her voice neutral with just the corners of her mouth lifting up into a tiny smile.

Oscar gave her a brief nod and mirrored her smile. _So, guess that's it, then. We're done, we're good, she's good, we can move on to—_

The gleam in her eyes changed. _Ah, to heck with it all,_ they seemed to say, in a reckless manner that was so unlike Olive. Almost before Oscar knew what was happening she rushed toward him.

Threw her arms around him.

And hugged him tightly.

Caught off guard, Oscar could only hug her too, patting her on the back to show he understood. _She didn't want to go generic, after all_ , he thought happily. _She wanted to go honest. And she doesn't care that they're watching. Not one bit._

* * *

When Olive broke away, she was pretty sure everyone could see her blushing.

But for the moment she didn't mind. Oscar, her Oscar, had beaten Odd Todd and saved her career. He deserved only the best thank-you she could give.

"Glad I could help!" Oscar said, in that awkward chipper voice she'd grown to love. He was blushing, too, but either no one noticed or they pretended not to.

"Agent Olive? Your badge."

Quickly readopting her professional air, Olive took her badge from Ms. O's hand, clipped it back onto its rightful place, and breathed a contented sigh.

But her content was short-lived. "Now," Ms. O went on in a stern voice. "Oscar…"

 _Oh, no. She wouldn't._ Olive folded her arms, her brow knitting in concern. _Oscar deserves an award for his bravery, never mind how he lost the gadget!_

Oscar looked just as worried. "Ms. O, I-I know what you're gonna say, and I promise, I-I-I'll never lose a gadget again!" he babbled.

"That's not what I was going to say. What I was going to say is…"

 _How is Otto so calm about all this?_ Olive wondered.

Oscar cringed.

"…you're awesome," she finished with a smile.

All at once the tension in the atmosphere dissipated. Otto clapped him on the shoulder, while Olive put her hands back on her hips and smiled at him. "Ah, hehe," Oscar managed, reassured there was no imminent doom in store.

"Buuut…"

Olive's smile faded again. _Don't tell me she's going to do it after all?_

"…don't take my word for it."

Ms. O gestured behind her, and Olive suddenly noticed the flashing lights and rock band blaring the music "Oscar is Awesome!" over and over again. At one time, she might've scorned both Oscar and Ms. O for going over the top, but not anymore. Surprised and impressed, she shot Oscar a look. _Now that's more like what he deserves._

Oscar looked like he was itching to go join the fun, so Ms. O beamed at him and said, "Well, what are you waiting for? Go!" and off he went, casting aside his magnetic vest on the way. Exchanging glances, Olive and Otto didn't hesitate to dash after him and spend a few hard-earned moments just being kids.

 _Not a 21-year-old adult._

 _Just your average twelve-year-old kid._

* * *

xxx

* * *

"Hello? Oprah, is that you?"

"Yes. Yes, O'Donahue. It's me."

There was silence on the other end. Finally he said, "I…I think I know why you called."

"Yeah."

"Is it because—"

"I just wanted to say—"

"— _I miss you._ "

They said it at the same time. She could feel herself blushing, and imagined him doing the same. "You missed me, too?"

"Oh, every day since I left you, all those years ago. It was…it was hours before I could stop myself from crying."

She thought back to that fateful afternoon, watching him coldly walk away, and her emotional breakdown that followed. _Oh, partner. If only I'd known how you felt, too._ "I didn't know you'd still cared that much. I thought you'd wanted to be done with Odd Squad—done with _me_ —forever."

"If I had," came the choked reply, "don't you think I would've left my jacket and badge behind, there on the beach that day?"

For a while, neither of them said anything as they let that sink in. Yet they both knew there was a lot they were going to have to discuss. And not all of it could be over the phone.

"Um…what's your evening like?" she asked, reaching for a tissue.

He laughed softly. "I'm free tonight. Your place or mine?"

"Yours this time."

There was another pause, and a noise on the other end of the line that sounded like a sniffle. "K," he said, his voice quivering. "This is great, Oprah. Really great."

"I know it is." She smiled. "Y'know, rumor has it the seventh _Star Wars_ movie is coming out this December. It would be just like old times if we went."

"Yeah. Just like old times."

They both knew it could never again be just like old times.

But that didn't mean they couldn't try.

"Alright, we can talk about this later. I'll see you after work tonight," she said. "Until then."

"Until then, Oprah."

She hung up with a click. The tears were falling freely again. But for the first time in too long, they were tears of joy.

The relapses never came back.


	37. The IgnoredUnnoticed

**A/N Huge, huge, HUGE special thanks to my sister for helping me write this! At 1:00 AM...when we were both super tired...oh dear... Soooooo I really hope this turned out okay and coherent enough lol.**

 **Gonna take a moment to talk about the upcoming Contest. Since I'm going to be gone most of June, I'll go ahead and post it as soon as I finish this story (which we're on the home stretch for!), giving you all ample time to participate and me time to work on those other stories I promised I'd finish. Speaking of participating, this year I've made the decision to _NOT_ allow guest users to take part in the contest, _unless_ you have a way to  privately contact me on another venue or site outside of FanFiction. This is not because I hate you guys—in fact I love and appreciate you and your support a bunch—but it's because I know a lot of people like to read through the reviews, and I want to minimize cheating as much as possible so that it's fair for everyone. So if you are a guest user who would like to participate, this might be a good opportunity and/or excuse to consider signing up (it's quick and free!) and getting an account!**

The Ignored/Unnoticed

Agent Oksana liked to think of herself as too tough for most people to mess with.

After all, not everyone had escaped over the Berlin Wall from Soviet Germany and eventually made it to Canada, yet still found the time to get educated enough to join Odd Squad.

Not everyone had been charged with aiding and abetting a rogue agent and stripped of her rank, yet still managed not to get kicked off the force.

Not everyone had staunchly worked alone in her department for nearly a solid twenty years, refusing every kitchen assistant sent her way.

And not everyone had beaten Ms. O in a musical staring contest during the Odd Squad Talent Show—one year before the activity was permanently removed from the program.

But

the one thing she _couldn't_ say

was that she was the only agent at Odd Squad who hadn't fallen for Agent Otto.

Because nothing could be further from the truth.

Oksana hated herself for it, of course. From Octavia to O'Guire, nearly every girl agent who'd ever passed through the break room to gossip had expressed some sort of interest in the rookie agent—how cute he was, how funny he was, how nice he was, how talented of a dancer he was, and especially how clever at problem-solving he was, even if he wasn't all that knowledgeable yet. They also _very clearly_ expressed how jealous they were of Olive, and how good his partnership was with her. The worst were O'Higginz and O'Donnell: when they weren't working their Tube Operating shifts, the two did nothing but gossip, gossip, gossip about whatever interested them. And for the past two months, that had only been Otto. Oksana had seen this kind of thing many times before, of course, and knew how superficial it all was. Apart from his partner, no one was really _truly_ interested in him for who he was as a person, rather merely because he was new and interesting. (Except maybe Dr. O, who wasn't the type to know what a superficial interest even _was._ ) As always, the whole gossip situation disgusted her, and Oksana resolved to never get involved in something so shallow and fake.

Until the quadrennial Captain Fun elections rolled around.

See, though she didn't know exactly what Captain Fun even did, Oksana definitely knew she didn't want Oren to get it. If he was going to dare to be rude enough to let her sneeze without saying "bless you" or "gesundheit" or "salud" or "vos souhaits" or whatever people said these days, then he clearly wasn't fit to hold any type of leadership position. Which only left Otto. _Being the subject of annoying gossip is a quarrel between us, alright,_ she reasoned, _but not a big enough one that I shouldn't back him in order to keep Oren from winning._

So that's how she found herself standing behind him at his desk, peering over his shoulder to notice he was…reading a Shmumberman comic? Instead of campaigning? Perplexed, Oksana racked her brain trying to remember if any of those girls had ever gossiped about Otto being _lazy._

"Aah!"

 _Oh right, he's here. Took you long enough to turn around and notice._

Otto craned his neck upward to address her, which for some reason she found satisfying. "Hey there, Oksana," he said, sounding a little confused.

 _Does he really not know why I'm here? Did he not just decide to run for Captain Fun?_ "What are you doing?" she demanded, stepping around his chair so they were facing each other. So to speak.

"Waiting for people to vote for me," he answered with a shrug.

Oksana kept her straight face, but came close to dropping her jaw. _Wow. Those girls were wrong when they said you weren't too knowledgeable. As far as campaigning goes, you're downright stupid._ "You're never going to win Captain Fun _that_ way. You need to walk around, shake people's hands…" a movement to her left caught her eye, "…flip burgers." When Otto gave her a look, she pointed. "Look at Oren."

Otto glanced over his shoulder to see what she was talking about, and when he turned back, Oksana had more to say. "Look, Otto, I know you and I have had our differences—"

"…We have?"

"Big time." _Of course we have, you just don't know about them._ "Lucky for you, I've had way more differences with _Oren,_ " she spat out his name, "which is why I'll help you beat him."

It was then she noticed Otto eyeing her curiously, as if he'd figured out something about you that he hadn't seen before. "You're different, aren't you?"

"Very," she replied immediately. _Okay, so maybe he_ _does_ _know about all the gossip that's been going around, and he's figured out I'm not just another superficial._

 _Or maybe he's figured out something else…_

Oksana bit her tongue. Where had that thought come from? _Never mind, back to business._ "Now, the first thing to do is check to see how many more votes Oren has than you." After a moment she added with a deadpan fistpump, "Let's do this."

But as the day of campaigning wore on, Oksana's little Freudian slip of the mind bothered her more and more. Otto's Frozen-Yogurt-Friday-Dance-Party idea particularly struck a chord with her—literally, as she hadn't known before he'd asked her to hold the stereo that day that he also really liked music, almost as much as she did. Confused by the strange feeling building up inside her, Oksana tried to take it out on Otto by getting him to do more chores for Orchid (someone Oksana knew liked to pick a fight with him frequently), using the excuse that it was all for ensuring her vote, but if anything it just made the feeling grow more. _I'm not voting for him because I feel bad. I'm not. I won't._

* * *

It wasn't like he talked to her much after the Captain Fun incident, anyway.

Or, for that matter, it wasn't like he talked to her at _all_.

She didn't like how distraught it made her. Worse, Agent Oburly, the kitchen assistant Ms. O made her take on for training purposes, started to notice what was going on with her. The constant question in his eyes infuriated Oksana, and she immediately began looking for ways to get rid of him. No need for nosy spies anywhere near her.

Though speaking of which, at least Orchid, the only girl she knew who hadn't ever fallen for Otto's charms in one way or another, was willing to help in _that_ regard. "I just came back from the Medical Bay," she informed Oksana one afternoon with an eyeroll. "They both figured out they _like_ each other. Eugh, too sappy for me, so I broke it up and threatened to blackma—Oksana? Hey, don't leave, I was talking to you…!"

Oksana never came out of her kitchen the rest of the day.

* * *

Regardless of what the situation was, Dr. O didn't deserve to have Oksana's turmoil taken out on her. Honest, confused, and equally uninterested in the superficial, there was no reason to go after someone likewise so serious and devoted to her work.

So she targeted Olive instead.

Though forced to acknowledge she was a good agent, Olive had this domineering way about her that Oksana never liked. It was bad enough on the day Olive thought she could take the couch Oksana had rightfully found and decorated, though she made sure the agent paid her dues by washing all the day's dishes. But she finally got fed up with it on the day the power went out, when Olive decided to lie about not using her hot pea soup for eating _and_ assert control over the break room. And through some strange kind of logic, the Kitchen Head decided it had everything to do with why Otto had never noticed her.

 _Did your partner think you should do that to me? Huh?_

 _I didn't think so, either._

Once the power came back on, and her tapioca pudding was (finally) gone, Oksana slid down her climbing rope and, on a whim, dug out her laptop and set it on the kitchen counter. She could feel her cheeks growing hot with…anger at Olive? Betrayal from Oburly taking her side? Maybe embarrassment from helping Otto? She couldn't quite figure it out, and that made her angrier, almost as much as when she couldn't detect the ginger in her lemon squares (which had happened far too often). Her laptop sprang to life, and contemptuously wondering for the five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundredth time why she couldn't have her own desktop computer anymore, she typed in her password to log on.

To her dismay the security question popped up. _Great. Now I have to wait for it to process my login before I can send that email._ Nevertheless she read it aloud: "What is the secret ingredient in all of your traditional Mexican recipes?" Recalling the fiasco she once had with losing her recipe book and trying every ingredient possible to remember what the right one was, Oksana typed the word 'raisin' into the answer bar, and her OddMail inbox finally popped up. She clicked the 'Compose' button in the corner and typed Otto's email address ( soundcheckforever70 (a) oddmail . com) in the recipient bar, skipping the subject line and immediately setting to work on her message.

Less than two minutes later she discarded it, not liking how the tone had gone from disdainfully firm to coy pleading. So she tried an email to Olive (sportslife63 (a) oddmail . com) instead, intending to tell her off. But when it too turned into coy pleading, she discarded it as well. And all the while her anger had grown, but not at Olive or Otto. No, Oksana was angry with _herself._

Slamming the laptop lid shut, she picked up the nearest object—an apple—and flung it across the room.

* * *

So now, as Oksana was baking her apple souffle for the morning's breakfast (not oatmeal, as it was still forbidden after the Wall of Oatmeal incident in 1904), she shook her head at all these thoughts.

 _He never really noticed me. Never will notice me. And there'd be no point if he did, anyhow. Crushes are a waste of time. Give me kitchen work any day over that._

Little did she know, while breakfast was being served, that a certain Head of Security (whose favorite food just so happened to be apples) had noticed her.


	38. The Caballero

**A/N A few of you brought up a good point in some of the most recent reviews that I think is worth addressing now. As you've noticed, lately I've been delving more into the backstories and ships I created for minor characters. Unfortunately, I'm not going to go much further into what happens next for most of them. Sorry TLM, but we don't really get to see how Owen fits into the picture.**

 **I have several reasons for this. One, my deadline(ish) for getting the story done is only a week away now (although the epilogue and possibly the last chapter of Part 3, depending on how fast I work, won't be published until sometime _after_ "O is Not For Over" airs), so there's precisely six chapters left after this one and that's not a lot. Two, due to the nature of my story as a sequel to "Olive's Last Partner", more of the focus is concentrated on OlivexOscar and OprahxO'Donahue, and the rest of the ships were only meant to supplement the main two. And three, I've been trying to be careful with shipping _Odd Squad_ characters because they're kids, and I don't want to get too detailed with some of my implied ships because I'd take the risk of crossing a line or two or eight.**

 **Idk, later on down the road, if some of you want me to write a supplementary work to "Ships Ahoy" about some of these minor ships, I may consider it. It might make a good prompt for a Contest winner to suggest to me…(hint, hint!)**

The Caballero

"Down the waterfall…hold the coconut…share it with a friend…"

Agent Obfusco took a deep breath and let it back out slowly, totally relaxed and content again. His evening tai chi ritual finished, he sat back in his wooden office chair and waited.

She arrived promptly at 8:01 PM, just like he'd asked her to. "This has gotta be good if you wanted _my_ advice," Orchid remarked as she plopped down in the visitor's chair and began swinging her legs. "Since you're the better advice-giver."

"No, _you're_ the better advice-giver," Obfusco shot back, and they both smiled. "But seriously, my dear fire ant, I require your help on a, erm, _private_ matter."

Orchid raised an eyebrow. "Private, you say?" Reaching behind her, she pushed on the swinging doors so they swung shut. "Is it _that_ private?"

"As private as a blue vacuum sucking up toast and pink custard." Obfusco looked down and caught himself twirling the ends of his moustache, an old nervous habit of his. Knowing he couldn't fool Orchid, he forced himself to put his hands down and leaned forward to tell her. "It concerns one Agent Olaf."

To his complete surprise, Orchid's jaw unexpectedly dropped, and her eyes lit up with that mischievous gleam of hers. She started giggling and gleefully clapping her hands together. "It's true, it's true! I can't believe it, it's actually true!" Hopping up from her chair, she pointed at him and squealed, "You like him back, don't you? _Don't_ you, haha!"

Utterly taken aback, Obfusco could only gape. And he wasn't used to gaping. _What does she mean, like him_ _back_ _?_ "You…y-you _know?_ "

Her titters turned into an amazed laugh. "So you _admit_ it?!"

"No, no! That's not what I'm saying, no!" he quickly said, frantically waving his hands to stop her speculations.

"But it's true?"

Obfusco opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had no truthful answer to that. Not even a confusing one.

By now Orchid had calmed down somewhat. "This is awesome," she said with a laugh in her voice. "And to think I thought Olaf was lying. Honestly I never, _ever_ pictured the two of you together, but here we are!"

"Olaf? Lying about what?"

Orchid rolled her eyes. "That he _likes_ you, silly! I saw him staring at you the other day and asked him about it, so he told me."

 _I don't believe it. He's interested, too?_

"So tell me everything," she said, scooting her chair closer to him and plopping back down again. "When did you first decide you liked him?"

"I told you, I never said that!"

"Whatever. Just start talking." Her voice dropped to a low and conspiratorial whisper. "I wanna hear everything!"

Obfusco sighed. "Fine, my feisty stoat radish, fine. It began many suns ago, in the Odd Squad Game Room…"

* * *

That was what he told Orchid, at least. In reality, it began not suns, not moons, but many, _many_ seasons ago. Back when he and his siblings joined the Los Ángeles _Organización Inusual_ in 1731.

Looking back on it nearly three centuries later, Obfusco saw his much younger self as a lot like Agent Olive. Having grown up in a _vaquero_ family, he'd been very serious, a tad rough around the edges, more reliant on hard work than natural talent, and a bit of a loner. Though one of the squad's top agents, for some reason he never seemed to fit in with the other kids. He liked to joke it was the moustache he'd chosen to grow, but actually believed it had more to do with all the partner changes he'd gone through. Countless boys and girls were partners of his over the years, and Obfusco had trouble connecting with any of them beyond work. Especially the boys, for some reason they made him feel more awkward. By 1800, he started to wonder if it was perhaps the Los Ángeles _organización_ itself that made him feel so lonely all the time, and against his brothers' and sister's wishes, applied for transfer to a new, different squad.

And another new squad. And another. And another, and another, and another. Until by 1859 he got to the Toronto squad and _still_ hadn't figured out what was wrong. On the verge of retiring, he somehow found an audience with Old Missie and told her of his dilemma. She merely smiled and said, "Would you consider changing departments?"

Which was how he found himself working as Head of Events & Support.

Finally, the change he'd been looking for! Instead of working with a partner to solve cases out in the field, Obfusco now got to work solo, using his acquired smarts to teach young agents-in-training at the Odd Squad Academy and to serve as host and intermediary between guest parties in headquarters, whichever was needed at the time. He wrote to his siblings about it, and Obfuscolina, Obfuscolino, and Peter were so impressed with his description of this new department that by 1866 they packed everything up and went to join him on the squad in Toronto.

But though work went much more smoothly, long after the turn of the century, Obfusco found himself at times still feeling lonely and like a misfit. Adopting a confusing dialogue helped fight it somewhat—not to mention he got a kick out of everyone trying to decipher what it was he'd said, even before it became ingrained as his natural speech pattern—but it could only do so much. Same with his southwestern overly polite and overly chivalrous attitude, a part of his personality that seemed not to exist in anyone else this far north. By the 2000s, Obfusco decided to just resign himself to the fact that, apart from teaching and organizing and the rare tear-jerking compliment from Olive, lonely was who he was going to be.

Until one fateful afternoon on Saturday, October 4, 2014 in the Game Room.

* * *

Olaf used to think he was the only agent at Odd Squad who spoke in a confusing way.

Then he met Obfusco.

"And that concludes our dragonfly-thundering lesson on how to make a baloney baseball cap," the moustachioed agent announced, dismissing the group of agents he'd gathered with their meat hat creations. "Now be a punctual peacock on top of a chocolate strudel, and come back tomorrow on Sunday for another lesson in making baloney fedoras!"

Olaf surveyed his handiwork proudly. The bill of the cap was quite a bit lopsided, but it was worth it to have his special potato displayed proudly in the center of his creation. _That sure was fun to make,_ he thought, fitting the cap on his head. _Obfusco is a really good teacher. And he's hard to understand, just like me! Maybe…_ Glancing at his wristwatch, Olaf watched the crowd until it thinned out enough, then stepped forward, closer to the large table Obfusco had demonstrated from. _Awoooo!_ he thought to himself, which meant, _I still have a few minutes before I need to get ready for my monthly underwater tennis class. That should give me enough time to speak with him._

"Um…excuse Olaf?"

Obfusco didn't seem to hear. The room was pretty loud with all the chatter and he looked busy packing up his unused baloney and other equipment, so Olaf spoke up again. "Agent Obfusco? Excuse Olaf?"

Still no response. Olaf was getting a little exasperated now, so he shouted out, " _Potato!_ "

That finally worked. Turning to see who'd said that, Obfusco smiled in his mysterious yet amiable way that made other people nervous, including Olaf. "Ah, Agent Olaf! The _paneer_ of _pico de gallo_ and lover of sagacious spuds. What is it you require of me?"

Olaf hesitated. _Did he just say something confusing? I think he did, so how come all I heard was a nice compliment? Did I actually understand him?_ "Um, uh…plippety-plop," he managed.

"I'm sorry?" Obfusco gave him a weird look and began muttering under his breath. With a start Olaf realized the other agent couldn't understand him like Oren could, but was rather actually trying to _translate_ it. "Did you say…the class is a compliment and meat is fun?"

With a chortle, Olaf shook his head no. "The utterances which my lips procured were meant to convey my admiration of your laudable skills in instructing a group of pupils, while maintaining an expert dexterity in rapidly constructing your own hat for to exhibit."

"Ohhh," Obfusco answered with a slow nod, and Olaf noticed he seemed to understand his words better that time. "In that case, skipping clover monkeys! I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the positive feedback." And he turned back to his work.

But Olaf wasn't done yet. "Obfusco do Olaf's 'instruction' now?" he blurted out before he could change his mind.

Obfusco stopped. His hands were frozen poised over a baloney package, and for a moment Olaf was worried he'd said something upsetting. But finally he smiled again, and this time it was reflective. "Why not? In return for taking part in mine."

Olaf beamed. "YAY!" he cried, giving him a high-five. That done, he quickly ran off to put on his swimming gear, leaving behind a rather bemused Obfusco.

And yet, as he was securing the straps on his snorkel, Olaf wondered why the vague nervous flutterings in his stomach wouldn't go away…

* * *

"So what was the underwater tennis class like?" Orchid asked, giving him a pointed look.

Obfusco ignored the latter. "Tranquil as two stargazing philosophers in a cherry red pickup in the desert," he answered, "yet puzzling as a peregrine falcon swooping over the Antarctic tundra."

"So you liked it?"

"Indeed."

Orchid giggled and twitched her eyebrows. "Anything happen since then?"

Obfusco leaned over and gave her a playful swat across the cheek. "Why in jackalope's name are you still my friend? You're worse than Medusa attempting the Cha Cha Slide."

"No, _you_ are!" she shot back, and they both laughed again. "But does that mean nothing's happened?" Orchid asked, a little disappointed.

"You are correct." He pressed his lips together and sighed, his face suddenly a turmoil of emotions. "I do not understand much of what is in my mind right now. Like a swarm of bees in sheep's wool, none of this makes sense to me, yes or no and right or wrong…"

Though not typically one for sentimentality, Orchid stood up and went over to his sitting figure, slipping an arm around his shoulders. "And maybe it _is_ wrong. Maybe this whole thing is one gigantic mistake. Maybe you two don't really like each other very much, after all. But are you gonna know till you try? Till you talk to him about it?"

"Does it even matter, Orchid? He is a boy, I am a—"

"Oh, now you can't use _that_ argument!" Orchid groaned, crossing her arms and peering down at him through eyes squinting from disapproval. "You can be _so_ outdated sometimes. Because you know what? I'll bet that's what's wrong with you. Why you've been a lonely misfit for 300 years since you joined in 1731."

Obfusco caught his breath. He hadn't told her any of that. "How did you—?"

"Being a _lambero_ has its privileges," she said with a wink, standing back up. "Now I gotta get home before it's past my bedtime. Think about what I said, will ya?" And with that she pushed the swinging doors open and skipped down the darkened hallway, carefreely singing to herself.

 **A/N No, I'm not trying to tie this in with the canon of "A Frozen Flower". I just thought it would be funny and a cute nod to Perilheart's amazing fanfic. Also, heads-up I forgot to mention earlier: this Monday through Friday I will be at camp, so unless I can cajole my sister into helping me out, there won't be any new chapters during that time.**


	39. The Barista

**A/N Lol after doing the math, I realized I won't have 43 chapters after all, but 44. Whoops... Although if you guys really want, I could combine the epilogue and the Part 4 thing into one chapter to make it 43. The only reason I wouldn't want to, though, is because I was planning on putting a quote into the Part 4 thing, and it would just look better uncombined. Idk, tell me what you guys think in the reviews.**

 **Just a reminder, no new updates until Friday or Saturday because I'll be at camp.**

The Barista

Polly Graph didn't like to tell anyone, but she tended to get rather lonely at her hot cocoa/lemonade stand.

Granted, sitting outside all day, every day running a self-employed business wasn't exactly the best way to get a social life. Plus, whenever she had unemployed company, potential customers had this awful tendency to believe she was too busy serving someone else, and didn't come up to buy anything. So choosing the success of her business over her friends, Polly remained alone during her work hours.

Little did she know she was about to get that problem solved.

* * *

For as long as she could remember, Oz had always been a bit of a melancholy person.

But ever since the early spring of 2014, Octavia thought, his melancholy had grown more and more into depression.

Puns aside, she almost never saw him anymore. Even when he wasn't on some long-term invisibility case, she could never seem to find him anywhere in headquarters. Not that the other agents were all that helpful. ("Have you seen my pa—?" " _OH MY GOODNESS OCTAVIA_. NO ONE HAS SEEN YOUR PARTNER IN _MONTHS._ " "No, but you don't understand, I can't—" "JUST _PLEASE QUIT ASKING_.") As the weeks went by, her distress at his constant absence grew, but deep down Octavia knew it was all because she'd rejected him that spring, then taken an interest in Agent Oren the following November.

So one day, in early 2015, she told him about her concerns, though careful not to mention why she thought he was always gone. "Hmm, you might try talking to Agent Olive," Oren ventured after thinking about it a little. "She had some partner trouble with Oscar around the time we joined, maybe she could give you some advice."

"Oh yeah, I'd heard about that," Octavia said. Then she gave him a look. "That reminds me, how is your _be-more-nice-and-less-lazy_ project going? Because I saw you and Olaf relaxing in the pool chairs the other day and—"

"That _was_ working, I swear!" he insisted. "Ms. O suspected one of the chairs might've turned odd, so Olaf and I had to simulate a beach relaxation and hope one of us didn't get launched or anything!"

"—and being rude to Olive and Otto—"

"Because they thought we weren't working! And then they went on to scare us with our worst fears! Hey, what's so funny?"

Octavia was chortling. "Nothing. Just that I believe you. And thanks for helping me out today, it means a lot to me."

A hint of that arrogant grin came back. "Anything for you, sweetie," he said with a wink, making Octavia giggle even more.

The next day she took him up on his suggestion and asked Olive for pointers, this time telling her the entire story without leaving anything out. "The number one thing you need to do is call him and talk to him," was Olive's main advice. "Apologize for hurting his feelings and make it clear you still want to be his friend and partner, and if he gets angry at you, just be patient."

So Octavia tried calling him. But all she got was the dial tone.

* * *

It was an uncharacteristically chilly morning in the spring of 2014 that made moping in the park too uncomfortable and brought Oz to Polly Graph's hot chocolate stand—and now lemonade stand, too—for the first time in his Odd Squad career.

Polly jumped at the sight of floating money slamming itself on her counter. "Is…someone there?" she asked hesitantly.

"Oh. Sorry. Agent Oz from Odd Squad," he mumbled, annoyed at his stupid voice for cracking like it always did. "Got turned invisible in an accident last fall."

Her face lit up. "Oz! Yes, I remember now. Olive told me about you. Oh, and hey, while you're here, you wanna fix an odd problem I have?" She pulled out a pink sparkly flip phone to check the time. "He should be coming right about now."

 _Not really, but I can't exactly say no, so…_ Oz grimaced (having long since realized the benefit to people not being able to see his face) and asked, "What kind of problem is it?"

Polly made a face. "Ugh, it's this weird _duck_. He keeps coming to my lemonade stand! And he won't even order lemonade! Watch, here he comes now."

Oz turned to look in the direction she was pointing. Sure enough, into the driveway waddled a fat little yellow duck, who stopped at the base of the stand (Oz moved away) and said to Polly, "Hey! Got any—"

" _I DON'T HAVE GRAPES_."

"—glue?"

Polly blinked. "What?"

"Got any glue?" the duck repeated.

"What? No, why would I—? Oh…" Her lips flattened into a thin line, and Oz thought he heard a growl in the back of her throat.

The duck seemed to grin. "Good! Then one more question for you." Flapping its wings, the duck hopped up onto the counter, thrust its bill into Polly's face triumphantly, and said, "Got any _grapes?_ "

Polly stared at him for a second, then slowly facepalmed. "I did say yesterday I'd glue you to that tree over there if you came back and asked for grapes, didn't I?" she groaned, her voice muffled by her hand.

Oz hid a snicker. That duck was _good_.

The duck nodded its head and repeated, "Got any grapes?"

She sighed and forced a smile. "Tell you what. Come back tomorrow and I'll have some grapes ready for you, okay?"

The duck said, "Good day." Then he turned around, hopped down onto the pavement, and waddled away.

As soon as he was out of sight, Polly collapsed back into her seat and banged her head on the counter. "Great. Now I have to go to the store and buy grapes with _my earnings_ for just a stupid duck!"

Oz cleared his throat. "Um, Polly?"

She looked up. "Sorry, forgot you were here. S'pose I should've asked you to zap him with a Duckinator or something like that, to get him to leave me alone."

 _Probably best she didn't. Mixing up gadgets is how I got into this invisibility mess in the first place._ And just like that, his gloomy mood had returned. Picking up the two quarters he'd laid on the counter, Oz waved them in front of her nose to remind her. "Cup of lemonade, please?"

"Yes, of course! Only…" she indicated the thermos of hot chocolate off to the side. "You sure you don't want something warmer? I'm having a blowout sale to get rid of it before summer starts, only ten cents a cup."

He eyed the thermos. That didn't sound like a bad idea, actually. "Sure, I'll do that. Make it five cups, you've already got all the money."

The look on Polly's face was unreadable. "Um, sure thing," she said, a little skeptically.

Five drinks later, Oz found himself with this buzzing feeling that made him feel light and happy inside. "Gee, Polly, you were right. This stuff really hit the spot!"

He didn't see Polly's wince. "Is everything okay, Oz?"

"Just peachy!" He hopped up from his cube seat, feeling a little jittery. "Tell you what, as a favor for the wonderful service, I'll even go and get those grapes for you! How's that sound?"

"That's okay, Oz, you don't need—"

"Awesome possum! Catch ya later!" Satisfied he had done his job right, Oz staggered over to the tree and more or less fell into the tube entrance.

Too fast to see Polly gaze worriedly after where he'd gone.

 _Can he even go shopping anywhere without creeping people out? Does he even know so, underneath the sugar and caffeine rush he has to be having right now?_

 _And is it just me, or didn't he sound super depressed when he got here?_

* * *

"I've called him so many times now. He still won't answer me."

"It's okay, Octavia. We can always track him or ask the Math Room where he is, it's not like he's totally missing."

"But he still won't talk to me. We've been best friends since birth, but he still won't…talk to me…"

"Just give him time. That's all he needs, just give him a little time."

* * *

For the next several months Oz visited Polly's stand regularly, up to once or twice a week. Each time he came, he'd show up super upset or melancholy, buy several glasses of lemonade or hot cocoa depending on the season, chat with her about nothing important at all, and leave when he felt happy and jittery again. It worried Polly that he never told her what was wrong, but she felt it wasn't her place to ask. Plus he'd solved her loneliness problem, and she wasn't about to let that go away.

Yet all that changed after the 2014 Jackie Awards.

Now, Oz came by _every day_ , sometimes more than once. Polly was downright scared now. From what she remembered of Oscar explaining to her how the payment system worked at Odd Squad, it seemed Oz was burning through his money faster than he could earn it back. Sure, it was great business for her, but this was taking things too far.

Plus, there was something else…

Which is why one afternoon, nearly a year after he'd first started coming, she immediately put away the drinks as soon as the floating coins slammed down on the countertop. "Oh, no you don't," Polly stated firmly. "You and I need to have a little chat before I let you get into the drink."

Though she couldn't see him, she could imagine the miffed reaction from his voice. "What do you mean, a 'little chat'?"

"I mean," she answered, standing up to all four-and-a-half feet of her height, "I want to know why you've been coming here for the past year now."

"Polly, no, please, that's personal—"

"Well, not anymore! I take my customer satisfaction _very_ seriously, yet I've let you go overboard for almost a year now. It's obvious you're depressed about something and you haven't told anyone what that thing might be. The last customer I had like you was Olive, and she wasn't even remotely _close_ to as bad as you've gotten!" Realizing she'd raised her voice and her cheeks were flushed with emotion, Polly paused and took a deep breath. "Look, Oz, I care about you and I hate hearing your hurt like this. So talk to me. What's been going on?"

There was no reply for a solid minute. But then she heard a sigh. "Okay, fine. It all started right after I turned myself invisible…"

When he finished, Polly could only look at him—or where she thought he was. _Actually, I should probably fix that now._ "Can you show me where your face is?"

An invisible hand silently took her chin and guided it to the left, then down a bit. "You're looking at my eyes right now," he assured her.

Polly didn't move, for fear of unknowingly losing eye contact. "Oz, look: you need to talk to her. Tell her how you really feel, and listen to what she has to say, too. Two years ago, Olive came to my stand for a similar reason to yours, and stopped coming so much only when she and Oscar were finally forced to talk things through." Her eye twitched uncomfortably, and she rubbed it with a finger and blinked a few times. "Where'd you go?" she asked.

"Here." She felt the hand again, only this time it went to her cheek and stayed there. Trembling a little she gazed at Oz, where she thought his eyes were, and clasped her own hand on top of his. She didn't take it away from her cheek.

"Oz?" she asked, a little confused. "Did talking about it help?"

"…Yeah. Yeah, I think it did." There was a slight chuckle. "And I think…I mean…I think I've moved on, now."

Polly blushed and looked away. The nervous tremors were getting worse. "Are you saying…?"

"I…I don't know. I mean, I've been coming here for a year now, so…"

Neither of them said anything for awhile, watching their breath form clouds in the chilly late winter air. Finally Oz pulled his hand away, and the sound of retreating footsteps indicated his leaving. "I should get back to headquarters again. Y'know, so I can talk to her and stuff."

"Oz, wait!" The footsteps stopped, and Polly smiled. "You can still come back anytime. I've given you back your drinking privilege."

"Okay, Polly. I will." Though she couldn't see it, she thought she could hear him smile back. "Thanks for everything."

Whatever had happened here today, they both knew it was the beginning of something more: a new possibility.


	40. The Shrew and the Tamer

**A/N Sorry this one's so late, guys. After getting back from camp, my Internet privileges were pretty much revoked until I got all my chores done, so there was an extra setback there. #thanksmomanddad #loveyoutoo**

 **Fun fact, originally there was supposed to be a chapter before this one called "The Counterparts", exploring Olive and Otto in a sibling-style relationship and why, in this fanfic, they didn't work together as a couple. But as I wrote it, it just seemed to fit less and less with my story's canon, so I opted not to include it. Maybe I'll work it into a future fanfic instead, idk. Inadvertently, this also solved my problem from the previous chapter, so I can now confirm that including the Part 4 thingy, there'll be 43 chapters when I'm finished with this!**

 **So now here's the plan for the rest of the story: final chapter of Part 3 will hopefully be posted in the next couple days, before I head off to NYC for a week (to see _Hamilton_ and _Something Rotten_ , no bigs), and the epilogue will be put up before I leave for the DR in mid-June. Then after that I'll open the Contest and wrap up my other fanfics, and...yeah. (Gosh, I've been working on this story for so long, and now it's almost over...)**

 **Speaking of almost over... WHO'S PUMPED ABOUT "O IS NOT FOR OVER" TOMORROW?! ?! ?! ?! Woot-woot! :D *cries***

The Shrew and the Tamer _(or, The Rival, part 2)_

Orchid liked to make everyone think she was a borderline psychopath.

Then again, perhaps she really was. Not every seven-year-old had an affinity for Trigonometry and Calculus, after all. Except for this one kid she knew named Andrew Wiggin, but the International Fleet had put a claim on him since the boy's birth, before he could even be considered for Odd Squad. So that just left Orchid. And if everyone called _Andrew_ a psychopath, then maybe she was, too.

Eh. Not like she cared. It kept other people out of her way, for the most part.

Except Obfusco. He'd never stay out of her way even if she wanted him to. Since the day she'd started at the Academy, the two of them had argued so much that they eventually became best friends. That way they could argue more conveniently.

Also except Owen. At least, initially. He hadn't really wanted to be her partner, either, but with no other openings and a three-year Investigation requirement to fulfill, the two of them had no choice. The partnership failed epically, of course. When he wasn't ticking her off with absolutely everything else he did, Owen had this bad habit of running and hiding at the first sign of confrontation in every case they had to solve, then lying about it later. Wasting her time dealing with a deadweight partner left no chance for Orchid to work on building her Dinosaur Room, but they both knew neither could stay out of each other's way until the three years were up. Luckily, when Owen was finally promoted to Head of Security, he never had to get in her way ever again.

Finally except Otto. That one pretty much explained itself.

But otherwise, everyone else left her alone with her dinosaurs. And that's just how Orchid liked it.

And then she met Ori.

* * *

Brushing her hands together, Orchid stood up to admire her handiwork. Just as with her first day on the squad, the boxes and cart that had dared to block her path and stare her down with those figure-eight eyes now lay defeated and in ruins. _I win again,_ she thought triumphantly, turning away to continue skipping down the hall.

Then her sharp ears picked up the _click_ and _squeak_ of the Basketball Door opening, followed by a _thud_ and a young boy's voice. "Phew! Three more boxes filled, two more boxes to go." A gasp. "Hey! What happened to my other boxes?" And a groan. "Ugh, this is the _worst_ first day _ever!_ "

 _The worst first day ever? Ha! Your boxes had to remind me of_ _my_ _worst first day, so I think I've got a better claim than you, you little upstart._ Indignant, Orchid whirled back around and stepped forward to face a brand new agent over the box ruins. "No it isn't," she declared, satisfied by the flinch he made. "Lemme tell you about _my_ worst first day…"

When she finished her tale, the look of utter bewilderment she got back showed he didn't understand a bit of it. "How is that your worst first day? It obviously _just_ happened."

Orchid wanted to _tsk_ at him so much. She wanted to point out that events can repeat themselves, and that the same thing had indeed happened years ago as it had today. She wanted to tell him how stupid and single-minded he was for not even _considering_ other possibilities. She wanted to label him as just another Sherman. She wanted to drop the mic and walk away without any explanation at all. But for some reason, none of that wanted to come out. It was as if everything inside her that she normally did had shut down. "Three choices," she finally said, trying to pull herself back on track. "I can say sorry, or I can help you, or we can go to a movie!"

Immediately she realized her mistake. _Wait wait, hold up…did I just accidentally invite him out on a date night?_ Shocked at herself and even more upset at the boy's overeager reaction, Orchid fumbled for a quick cover-up. "But I'm only doing one of those, so choose wisely."

She watched his face fall, and suddenly felt a little sad for the boy. _Sad? Why am I feeling sad? I've done this kind of thing with plenty of other kids before. Why feel sad now?_

Perhaps wisely the boy shrugged and said, "I'll take the help."

As the two of them headed downstairs to Odenbacker's workshop, Orchid breathed an internal sigh of relief. _That was a close one,_ she thought. _If he'd picked movie, I dunno what I would've done…_

His voice interrupted her thoughts again. "By the way, I'm Ori," he said cheerily, stopping to hold out his hand. "I'm new here. Who're you?"

Orchid stopped and eyed his hand. She tried again to find the urge to dismiss him as a Sherman, but it still refused to come. Confused, all she could bring herself to do was—cooperate? "Orchid," she told him stiffly, taking his hand to shake it. "My name is Agent Orchid."

"Cool! Nice to meet you, Orchid!" Introductions done, Ori continued on his way again, and Orchid followed him.

 _I don't like not being able to tell him what I want to tell him._

 _I better find out more about this Ori kid._

* * *

Down in Odenbacker's workshop, Orchid came up with a plan to test Ori. When the mechanic warned them he only had five-space boxes left, she pretended to overreact to the news, rattling off things like a Centigurp takeover, quitting their jobs, and becoming a hairdresser (a secret ambition of hers for if she ever left the squad and grew up, something she hadn't told anyone before and later wondered why she'd decided to tell Ori of all agents). But to his credit, Ori didn't immediately start panicking along with her. Instead he interrupted her spiel and calmly explained that no, the Centigurps weren't going to take over, because all he needed to do to make the boxes work was figure out how many five-boxes would replace the two eight-boxes she'd smashed. Even more impressive, he went on to ask Odenbacker for sixteen jacks and to organize them in three rows of five.

Of course, Orchid immediately noticed there was a remainder of 1 (a math skill she didn't particularly care for because it was arithmetic too basic for her calculus-wired brain), so she tested Ori again by confidently counting out three five-boxes that he would need, to see whether he would forget about the remainder or notice it and pragmatically opt to carry the last Centigurp in hand instead. But again, he surprised her by taking the mathematical approach and trying to figure out how he could fit all sixteen Centigurps into five-boxes. Impressed with his reasoning skills, Orchid forgot all about testing Ori or about her loathing of basic arithmetic and pointed out how the boxes could also hold less than the maximum amount of five, so he could use four five-boxes to hold them all. As a bonus she even threw in an extra bit of help by letting him know that Ms. O had brought matzo ball soup for her lunch that day, giving him more time to rush off and somehow try to catch the remaining Centigurps before Ms. O found him out.

But once Ori had grabbed the boxes and beelined out of the warehouse, her cooperative good mood instantly disappeared. Irked at losing control of her normal self, Orchid whirled on Odenbacker and insisted he return the favor for all the time she'd taken out of her work schedule to assist a rookie agent. Satisfied her old self was back, she upgraded her demand to two favors when Odenbacker refused.

* * *

"Hmm…it appears to me that your Venus is waxing into gibbous and on toward full."

"Shut up, Obfusco," Orchid moaned, putting her head in her hands. She knew all too well what his confusing words meant this time. "You're not helping anything a _bit!_ "

"On the contrary, my precious fire ant," he said, giving her a knowing moustachioed smile. "You helped me with my struggles, now I am obligated to return the favor." Standing up from his desk, he began to pace back and forth in the tiny office. "Let us go over what we know. The first time you encountered this Agent Ori, you could not seem to summon any of your trademark reactions. You were never snarky or surly to him, instinctively could not bring yourself to call him Sherman, ended up helping him on his first case, and even made an offer to ask him out on a date—"

"For the last time, _I didn't ask him on a date!_ " Orchid exclaimed angrily.

Unfazed, Obfusco persisted. "Every single other time the two of you have encountered one another, these symptoms you find so confusing return. But though they are confusing to you, I find them clear as a flamingo-infested golf course." He stopped pacing and turned to face her. "Which is why I have come to the only possible conclusion as to _why._ And it is that you like him."

 _That I_ _what?!_ "Obfusco, that can't be—"

"Oh, but it is," he cut her off smoothly. "Agent Ori is the only person you have ever placed _on your level._ Even I, your trusted _camarada y confidante_ , do not possess that unique privilege."

He had a point. Though her best friend and confidant, Orchid had never really seen Obfusco as an equal. In many aspects he was superior to her, and in others _she_ was, so they could never be on par with each other. Ori, on the other hand…regardless of whether he was actually her equal or not, her instincts had put him on that level.

Which meant…

"Well, if you'll excuse me, _Señor Saberlo Todo_ , I need to go think about this," Orchid huffed. With that she hopped out of the visitor's chair and stalked out of the office, slamming the swinging doors behind her.

Obfusco sat back down, laughing softly. She'd come to terms with the truth sooner or later. His work here was done.

* * *

"Hey! Where'd you get that?"

Ori froze. He was pretty sure his heart skipped a beat.

"Yes, Ori, I'm talking to you!"

He swiveled around to find himself looking down at none other than Orchid. And she did not look happy. "Um, hi, Orchid. W-what're you talking about?"

She rolled her eyes. "Duh, that adorable puppy you're holding! Now who gave it to you?"

 _Uh-oh._ Off went the mental warning bells. Ori had heard through the grapevine about Otto's promise to her from over a year ago. (During the great wild goose chase he'd led through headquarters once, Ori had met a large sentient grapevine in the Creature Room who somehow knew every detail imaginable about the goings-on at Odd Squad, and ever since then he often went back to visit for advice or a pleasant chat.) "Umm…" Ori scratched the ears of his new puppy, who he'd named Gorga, trying to avoid Orchid's penetrating stare. "…Otto gave him to me…?"

He watched as the girl set her jaw. "So Oren was right," she muttered. Turning back to Ori she said, "Well, aren't you going to say you're sorry?"

"For what?" he managed with a gulp, clutching Gorga tighter.

"That you have a puppy and not me?"

Ori started to protest, then stopped himself. He remembered all too well what the grapevine had told him about Odenbacker's last tangle with Orchid. But as he tried to think of a comeback, he suddenly found himself once again thinking how cute she looked when she was angry. The way her sienna eyes sparked, how her long chestnut hair framed her jutting chin, the bared pearly whites of her teeth…

 _This is it,_ Ori realized. _The chance I've been waiting for. I can't pass this up now._

And then, he got an idea.

"You see, I would, but…" A broad Ori-esque gaptooth grin spread across his beaming face. "That's only the first of your three choices."

Orchid's anger faded into bewilderment. "My _what?_ "

"I _could_ say sorry, or I could do your laundry for a month, or we can go to a movie." Ori raised an eyebrow and added meaningfully, "But I'm only doing one of those, so choose wisely."

For a moment Ori couldn't make out the look on Orchid's face as she thought over what he said. There was indignance and astonishment for sure, some anger, maybe resignation, and a whole lot of odd-knows-what-else. He already knew the second choice was out for sure because just the other day Oren had lost a bet against her and had gotten stuck with doing her laundry for the next month, which left the apology or the movie date. As the seconds ticked by and still no answer, Ori swore he could feel a cold sweat break out somewhere in his slicked-back hairline. Had he played his cards right? Would the gamble pay off?

Without warning, Orchid started laughing. "Obfusco actually _was_ right," he heard her mutter. Then to him: "Duh. Obviously the movie."


	41. The Trio

**A/N OOOoooopssss, I did it again. Sorry, guys. As you can see, this chapter is 9,000 words long and I was kind of MIA in New York City (pro-tip, service there is literally terrible), so that's why it took so long, but yeah the false promises are still not fair to you guys.**

 **Soooo yah. This is the last chapter of Part 3, and I will warn you it's a whole lotta redundant fluff that is majorly unedited. Apologies! Next up is the epilogue, aka the FINAL CHAPTER. I'll save shoutouts for later because I'm just too dang tired right now (it's way past midnight where I live rn btw), though I do have one question for my guest reviewer Lily: this is kind of a long shot, but do you happen to be the same Lily who reviewed my RASFSIH story?** **That** **Lily was also a guest reviewer, and once said she was the same age as me, and you said the same thing, so I was just curious.**

 **'Nother reminder that I will put the Contest up when I post the last chapter of this, and it will probably run sometime through the end of July, which is when I hope to finish my other two fanfics. (FYI, the story winner for Contest #2 from last year will** ** _not_** **be published at all because he happens to be my ex-boyfriend...'nuff said there.) That gives you all a month and a half to PM your entries to me. Remember, I won't accept submissions that are reviews because everyone can see them, so I will have any review entries on the Contest deleted. In other words, please get an account if you even remotely think you might be interested! Remember, the prizes are getting your own story idea written by me! :D**

 **And yet another reminder - please DO NOT list the references you find in your reviews here! It'll hurt your chances of winning and/or spoil the fun for other people. Thanks for the consideration!**

 **But more importantly, thank you all SOOOO MUUUUCH for all the undue wonderful support, praise, and constructive criticism I've received over the past seven months! I will definitely miss working on this story - and all the reviews and attention on this story from you guys - when it's over... :'( (Once back in May I got a whopping 213 views in one day...that was crazy. Also with 191 reviews and 7,808 views, it's getting pretty close to completely topping "Olive's Last Partner"!) Love you all!**

The Trio

" _ **You could maybe call it a...trio?" ~Assistant Olympia**_

* * *

July 22, 2015. NIAOR. 6:05 PM.

Finally, all the stories had been told.

"It's six-oh-five," Olive commented with a chuckle as she checked her watch. "I don't see any dinosaurs around, do you?"

Otto's eyes widened. "Oh God, I hope not. One dinosaur breakout was enough for me."

Oscar and Dr. O looked back and forth between the two partners in bemusement. "What dinosaur breakout?" Dr. O asked.

"Um, never mind," Olive said, glancing nervously at Otto. Both of them were thinking the same thing: _It would take too long to explain, and we've done enough storytelling for one day_.

Dr. O nodded curtly. "Alright. In that case, I should go. I don't like leaving the Medical Bay for too long." Then she looked at Otto. "But before I go, do we still have a plan for this Saturday night?"

Olive and Oscar exchanged glances.

Otto noticed. "Okay, you two, I saw that! If you have to know, Opal and I are going out to see the Minions movie this weekend." He winked at the doctor. "I'm trying to get her introduced to some more… _silly_ entertainment."

"Good luck with that, heh," Oscar coughed under his breath, and Olive giggled.

Dr. O watched them for a bit, then shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder how I get along with you three at all. Now _WHAT'S next?!_ " With that she spun on her heel and marched away.

The trio in question watched her go. "I think our story embarrassed _her_ more than she'll admit," Otto mused. "Your guys's teasing isn't helping, either."

"Says the one who makes all the jokes." At Otto's reaction, Olive laughed and held her hands up. "Okay, okay! Tell her the two of you can judge the two of us all you want. It's only fair."

"Although, how does that one saying go?" Oscar cut in. "Best friends don't judge each other, they judge other people together."

"Yeah, except judging each other is why we're friends in the first place. Imagine that." The three of them laughed at Otto's remark and the little hand rainbow he did.

"But seriously, guys," he went on a little later as they came to the foyer, just before they separated for the desks and the lab. "I, um…thanks for telling me your story. It means a lot to me that I get to know what you both went through, better late than never. And I'm sorry for flipping out at first." _And for feeling jealous,_ he added to himself.

Olive cracked a grin and put a hand on his shoulder. "S'okay, partner. I'm glad we got it all out in the open, too." She put her other hand on Oscar's shoulder and, still grinning, shook them both a little. "After all, I can't have any bad blood between my two favorite boys, now can I?"

The two boys regarded each other thoughtfully, and in that moment they came to a strange sort of understanding. For Olive, there had never been any question of sharing. She belonged to Otto just as much as she belonged to Oscar, and all the while both belonged to her. Any lingering jealousy Otto might've had left dissipated. "No, you can't!" he answered, throwing a brotherly arm around Olive's shoulder.

Oscar copied him. "Funny, to think Olive said being a flirt didn't suit _me._ "

"Oh, shut up, you!" Olive retorted, but she couldn't stop the laughter as it bubbled out of her. And within moments the trio were laughing their hearts out, as all old friends should.

Yes, all the stories had been told.

But all was not yet said and done…

* * *

September 1, 2015. Post-NIAOR. 7:23 PM.

"I can't believe the fate of Odd Squad is gonna come down to luck!" Oscar burst out, shaking his head and propping it up on one fist in resignation. _It was one thing when we had only my prediction to go on after Olive and Shapeshifter tied. But now I've got nothing to help her with. Nothing!_

Meanwhile, Otto watched him, frustratedly chewing on his lip. _There's got to be another way_ , he thought. _Oscar and I didn't spend hours gathering footage, combing through it for predictions to help Olive, eating popsicle after popsicle, and accidentally hitting Orson in the face with an ice cream scoop while distracting Fladam for everything to come to_ _this_ _. We can't lose the Odd Squad Tube Map now! There's gotta be some kind of prediction we can make. But how can we do that when Odd Todd's thrown everything an equal amount of times?_

 _Except…after now, he hasn't…_

 _That's it!_

"Wait, it doesn't have to!" Otto exclaimed. "I have an idea." But there was no time to explain. As Todd's face and Wyatt Evil Referee's arm loomed on the monitor screen, Otto quickly grabbed his headset and ordered, "Olive, stall!"

Oscar shot him a look. _Stall? How on earth is she going to—_

"Ow! Ooh, hand cramp! Ow!"

The scientist blinked. "Huh. That'll work!" he muttered approvingly. "Now whatever your idea is, Otto, it better be a good one. The fate of Odd Squad and Olive's safety depends on—"

"I know, I know, no pressure or anything," Otto cut him off, trying his best to hide how nervous he really was as he picked up the whiteboard and marker.

Olive wasn't helping things. "Whatever it is, Otto, _hurry!_ "

Otto took a deep breath. "See, Odd Todd throws rock, paper, and scissors an equal amount of times."

"Um, yeah, we know. That's why we can't make a prediction," Oscar said, a little chidingly.

"No, look! He just threw rock," Otto explained, marking a tally, "he threw paper," and another tally, " _but_ …he hasn't thrown scissors yet."

There was a faint whistle-blowing sound, and the hum from Olive's ear mic went dead.

"That means eleven rock, eleven paper, but only ten scissors."

The fists of the two opponents took their positions. Only seconds were left.

A gleam in Oscar's eyes told Otto he'd caught on. "His throwing pattern is like Olive's. So that means he's gonna play scissors next to make them all equal again!"

Their fists raised out of the camera's sight…

" _Olive, throw rock!_ "

…and only Olive's fist came back down again.

For Todd's had out two fingers.

The audible gasp from the other fourteen villains was loud enough even for the boys to hear through the camera mic. "Rock smashes scissors!" Olive cried, slamming her fist over Todd's fingers.

"KOOKY WINS THE MAP!" declared Evil Referee.

Excited and relieved beyond measure, Otto and Oscar sprang out of their seats and into a celebration dance, yelling and laughing happily at the tops of their lungs. " _YEAH! WOO-HOO! WE WON! WE WON!_ "

A premature, ill-timed mistake that proved near fatal…

Out of the corner of their eyes, they both saw a sudden blur of color across the screen. Another collective gasp sounded, this time so loud it could be heard from the earphones of their discarded headsets, lying on the table top.

The boys froze.

Odd Todd's looming face dropped its jaw, but those cold blue eyes smirked.

"Agent…Olive…"

Otto and Oscar could only stare at the monitor and gape at the horror of what they'd done. "Uh-oh," Oscar whispered.

Slowly they looked at each other. "We just blew her cover," Otto said in disbelief. Oh, the irony after reminding Olive over and over that she had to blend in… They had been so close to getting the map, and when Olive won that final match against Todd, it seemed all but certain. Yet one careless moment of celebration later, the girl that meant so much to them was now in serious danger. And it was all their fault.

It was Oscar who sprang into action first. "We have to get in there and save her! And this time, _I_ have an idea." While Olive's voice tried to babble out an excuse, Otto watched as the scientist dashed to the door leading to the driver's cabin. "Orson! If you put the truck on reverse autopilot, would it be strong enough and fast enough to break through the warehouse wall?"

The baby agent gurgled a reply that Otto couldn't understand, but that Oscar obviously could. "Good! Perfect! Just get that set up and crawl back here with your banana split launcher when you're done!" He dashed back into the inventory and straight towards the main freezer. "Otto, grab the black harness and duct tape under the counter and strap them on. Get every ice cream cone you can find and hook them into your coveralls with the harness, but loose enough so you can pull the cones out. Then use the duct tape to strap Orson onto your back once he comes. We may need him for backup."

Throwing open the freezer door, Oscar hauled out two gigantic tubs of vanilla and chocolate ice cream and hooked them onto his belt, while Otto scrambled to do as he said. "You mean we're gonna bust in and bomb them with ice cream?"

"Oh, yeah." Oscar shoved two scoops into each of his tubs. "Those villains are about to get a sweet, nasty surprise…"

No sooner had they finished than the truck jerked forward, nearly throwing Otto and Oscar to the floor. As he held tightly onto the back door, Otto felt something crawl into the harness on his back. _Good, Orson overheard Oscar's instructions._ "Think we can pull it off?"

"We have to," came the grim reply. "Before the Tube Map, Olive's safety is still our number one priority."

 _As it always will be,_ Otto thought. _For both of us._

The truck came to a stop.

And hurtled backward with all its might.

 _CRASH! ! !_

 _Let's do this!_

Minutes later it was over. With every villain including Odd Todd lying on the ground covered in ice cream, Tube Map safe in her hands, Olive rejoined her two best friends. "Thanks, Orson," she said to the baby agent.

While Oscar slipped the pacifier badge into Orson's mouth, Otto realized something. "Kind of fitting to pay Todd back for the pienado with a creamy banana split, isn't it?"

Olive chuckled a little. "Yes. Now let's go home."

As they walked into the glare of the sunset, Olive leading with Oscar close behind her, Otto had to smile. At one point he might've felt jealous that Oscar was sticking so close to her since they'd made their grand brick-shattering entrance. But after all the adventures the three had shared together thus far, and after today working together with Oscar so they could both help Olive, Otto couldn't have felt any such thing if he'd wanted to.

* * *

"So, you're okay with the two of us together?"

"Yeah. Well, I am now, anyways."

"What happened to change your mind? I've tried calling you for weeks now and—"

"I know, I know, it was unfair of me. And more unfair that I stayed away to sulk for a year. But now, I can tell Oren really cares about you, and he's not jealous or anything. Plus, I do honestly think you two are good for each other. And…also…"

"What is it?"

"I mean…I think I found someone else…and I think she likes me…"

"Really?" Octavia squealed. "Who is she?"

"I'm not telling!" At the sad look Octavia gave him, Oz conceded. "Okay, I won't tell you _yet._ Not until I've talked to her more."

"And what if she says no?"

"Then that's why you're my best friend, isn't it?"

Octavia giggled. "It's good to have you back, Oz. Really good."

* * *

January 4, 2015. Pre-NIAOR. 4:09 PM.

"Two down, one two go!" Otto announced as Oscar plugged the pyramid in its place. "All we need now is the rectangular prism."

Before Oscar could even think about where they should go next (and preferably somewhere closer to home, not all the way across the Pacific Ocean), Odelia, beaming in that unflappable way she always did, piped up, "Agent Odie has one! I saw it in his lab yesterday!"

 _Agent ODIE?!_ Oscar felt his chest tighten. Fears about being accused of copying hairstyles and memories of that afternoon in his lab years ago— _I would never judge him, but still…_ —pressed against the edges of his squirrel-like mind. "Ohhh no, nononononononono, anybody but Odie, nonono—"

" _Oscar!_ "

Feeling a jerk on his shoulder, Oscar put down the warning finger he'd been shaking in Odelia's face and turned to meet Otto eye-to-eye. There could be no mistaking the anxiousness in the taller boy's eyes. "Please," he whispered. "For Olive."

 _For Olive,_ he repeated to himself. _Of course. How could I forget?_ For those two words there were very few things he wouldn't do, even facing a colleague angrier than Ms. O. But as he looked at Otto, Oscar had to remind himself that Otto still didn't know about their secret yet. _Not that it'll be hard to act reluctant, though,_ he had to admit. So it was with a sigh, an eyeroll, and a surly "Okaaayyyy" that he agreed to head back by way of Vancouver.

Although, after Odelia decided to pull a well-charged hand buzzer on him _and_ Otto thought it was funny, Oscar couldn't get out of Tokyo faster. It took several mental reminders that he had her love of hand buzzers and other pranks to thank for gadgets like the Talkinator before he could forget his upset shock and refocus on the task at hand. Not that Dr. O's quasi-legal tube phonecall didn't also help, naturally, but if anything it concerned Oscar even more to hear _Opal_ of all people sounding worried.

And once they got to the Vancouver squad's lab, it seemed like his fears would come true. "Oh, I have the rectangular prism," Odie answered Otto, never taking those flinty eyes off Oscar, "but not for that pirate."

Right on cue, Olive swaggered in at that moment, obviously in the final stage of pirate-itis. "Arrrgh! Sorry I be late, guys!"

The coincidence fooled Otto. "You don't understand!" he protested, taken aback. "This pirate is my partner!"

Oscar was still silent. _Oh, if only that was what he really meant. I could deal with that, but not this,_ he thought, gripping his lab coat lapels and bracing himself for impact.

"No, not her!" Odie growled, narrowing his eyes to slits of steel. "I'm talking about the pirate thief, Oscar! He stole all of my beautiful designs…"

 _Here it comes…_ Oscar gulped and began to fidget.

Again Otto jumped to the wrong conclusion. " _You_ stole his gadget designs?" he asked incredulously, whirling on Oscar.

The fidgeting was getting more violent. "Oh no no no no—" he tried to smile.

"No!" Odie agreed. "No, worse than that…" And with that, he ripped off his navy Odd Squad issued ball cap, revealing the straight-styled, matching blonde haircut underneath. "…my hair designs!"

Oscar took a deep breath. The secret was out. The evidence of his cosmetic crime was on the easel, on the photos, on Odie's _head_ for odd's sake. And the fidgeting wouldn't stop.

"Arrrgh! Oscar! How could ye?"

The hurt and betrayal hidden behind Olive's guttural pirate speech pushed Oscar into a stuttered explanation. "I-I admit it, I-I-I stole his hair designs!" he confessed with a sigh, looking down at the floor. "But—it's only because…" he forced himself to meet Odie's steely eyes again, "I only wanted to be more like you."

Odie blinked. "Really?" He set down the baseball cap, gazing at Oscar as if seeing him in a new light. "I thought it was because you didn't like me. After…um, y'know…that one day?"

 _After all you did for me in my early days at Odd Squad and ever since, you thought I could hate you? I know you're proud and hard on yourself, but no matter who you like or what decisions you make, I'll still always be your friend._ "Just the opposite, my friend," Oscar said, a bit of emotion in his voice from knowing they were reconciling at last. "Just the opposite."

"Oh, bring it in, you big lug!" And before Oscar could react, Odie had grabbed him in a tight, slightly awkward bear hug. And, apologetic by nature, followed it with slightly awkward blubbering, "I'm so sorry I doubted you!"

 _Um…_ "Okay, Odie, that's great but enou—"

The bear hug had turned into conspicuously awkward pats on the back. "I promise I'll never do that again!"

Oscar tried to ease himself out. "Odie, really th-that's fine, I'm not—"

"It's the mathematical—"

" _Guys!_ "

Enter Otto ex machina to thankfully push them apart before Odie got too carried away. Still a little shell-shocked, Oscar saw Olive mirroring his expression out of the corner of his eye. _Yeah, I've got a few things to explain to you later on…_

But not everything needed explaining, as it turned out. Later, once Olive had been turned back to normal and Odie got his new very own hairstyle, it didn't take too many overt hints from Olive and Otto ("Seriously, can you _believe_ he thinks his new Justin Bieber hair is actually attractive?" "Yeah, that's so 2009. By now it really _is_ a style of his own!") to convince Oscar that copying Odie's hair once again would probably be a bad idea…

* * *

"This was a great idea to come to the midnight release, Oren! I'm so glad we did."

"Not as good as your idea to make our own cosplays. You look every inch the Persephone."

"And you look every inch the Henry Skreever!" Octavia giggled. "Do you think in _Knights of the Bouillabaisse_ , J.R. Ticklepenny will finally put the two of them together? I mean, I ship them so much, and there's so many little hints in the other books."

Oren threw an arm around her shoulders and winked. "She has to. Why do you think I picked this cosplay to match yours?"

"Um…because your glasses make you look like Henry?"

He sighed. "No, Octavia, it's because—"

"I know, I know. It's because we have to cosplay only as the perfect couple."

* * *

October 17, 2015. Post-NIAOR. 6:42 PM.

In spite of agreeing to grab a bite to eat while in the Tube Lobby, Olive and Otto had all but crashed at the break room table, utterly exhausted after their unexpected adventure in Sector 21. It was several minutes before either of them moved or spoke, each wrapped up in their own fatigue-warped thoughts.

And that's how Oscar found them. "Hey guys! Look who's back from Sector 21, heh! No spider-cat bites or fire toad burns, I see?"

Olive forced herself to perk up. "Hi, Oscar," she mumbled. "Do mud-covered coats count on your list?"

Chuckling, Oscar sat down with them. "Laser chickens, so yeah! It's okay, I understand. I know what you've been through, I was the first agent to get lost in Sector 21 a few years ago, back before we knew how dangerous it was. That's why we have Training Video #1624, heh!"

"Did you have to fight the vines?" Otto asked, sitting up.

Oscar's smile faded. "You were stuck there past _sunset?_ "

 _You weren't?_ "It took us two whole hours to find our way back to the other tube entrance," Olive pointed out. "We only just got back."

"Gosh, no wonder you guys are so tired!" Oscar shook his head. "I'm so glad you made it at _all_ , then. The chances of survival past sundown are 725…to one." He squinted. "Although, I've been known to make mistakes…from time to time…"

Olive caught her breath. Oscar was clearly in scientist mode right now, because after what she'd just heard, she was pretty sure his panic mode, though endearing, wouldn't have been all that helpful. But knowing that… _Gosh, Otto and I were really lucky to escape when we did. Or else…I don't want to think about that._

She looked at Otto. _And I meant what I said before,_ she told him in her head. Granted, Otto wasn't like Oscar at all. He was her best friend, her brother, and on days like today, her other half. After almost two years as partners, Olive couldn't imagine working together with anyone else. _I did mean it. If I had to be lost in the woods with anyone, I'm sure glad it was with you, Otto. And even though I only said it when I thought we were goners, I still wouldn't trade one day for anything._

Otto would probably never know how much Olive cared about him, only because she saw him differently. She loved Oscar because…well, she hesitated to use the word _romance_ , but there it was. Her love for Otto, on the other hand, was the platonic ideal…

 _Is it normal for people to analyze their relationships?_ she suddenly realized. _Or am I just that tired?_

The boys were still conversing, so Olive tuned in. "It's funny, I don't think I've ever seen them all in one place before," Otto said. "Kinda weird."

"They haven't either, actually," Oscar replied. "For some reason Ms. O never told any of them that there were multiple Tube Operators, so they all had quite a shock today."

 _Speaking of Tube Operators…_ Olive grinned as she recalled something from earlier. "Shock or no, they seem fine with it now. Some of them _more_ than fine, I think."

They looked at her. "What are you saying, Olive?" Oscar asked, confused.

"Well…Otto, did you _see_ the way O'Donnell and O'Callaghan were eyeing each other?"

Otto's eyes widened. "You mean…?"

"I suppose it _is_ their first time meeting," Oscar chimed in, mirroring Olive's grin. "I'd give them about two weeks."

"A round of drinks at Club 24 says two days," Olive wagered.

"Are you kidding? Knowing O'Donnell, I wouldn't bet more than two _hours_ ," Otto said.

"Hey, guys! How are my favorite agents doing?"

The three of them whirled around.

Strolling past the break room were none other than the two redheads themselves, linked arm in arm. "Y'all doing alright?" O'Donnell asked again, smiling as always.

They stared. "Um…great! Thanks for all your help!" Olive managed.

"Yeah, thank you so much!" Otto added quickly.

"Anytime! Have a good evening, you three!" O'Callaghan called, and the two of them strolled around the corner.

The trio looked at one another. "Two minutes," they all said in unison.

"So who's gonna foot the bill now?" Otto asked.

Olive shrugged. "Eh, we can come up with a new bet on the way. Whoever loses that one can cover drinks and stuff." She checked her watch. "It's nearly seven o'clock and work's about done with. So why don't we head out now?"

"You sure you two are up for it?" Oscar asked in concern as they all stood up. "I thought you guys were too tired."

"Never too tired for Club 24 with my friends!" Olive replied with a wink. "Now _allons-y_!"

She got two blank looks.

 _Oops. Am I really that tired?_ "Sorry, that's French. Er, let's go!"

* * *

"Ori! Thank odd you're okay!"

"Hey, hey, it's alright, I'm back. No harm done, see?"

"You were stuck as a wrought-iron gate for _three days_ , Ori! If Otto hadn't caught Mariana Mag and gotten that gadget of hers back—"

"Wait, wait, since when did you start defending Otto? I thought the two of you had 'unfinished history'."

"Shut up, Ori."

"And since when did you actually care about other people like this?"

"Shut up, Ori!"

"And since when were you a hugger?"

Orchid didn't respond to that.

Ori giggled a little. "It's okay, Orchid. I can hug you back."

 _That's not what I wanted, Ori._

 _I mean it, that's not what I want!_

 _…Ah, screw it._

* * *

February 12, 2015. Pre-NIAOR. 10:04 AM.

"Thirty-seven," Olive murmured to herself as she punched the number from Dr. O into the first slot in the briefcase. And with a _ding_ and a _chirp_ , the little light above the slot blinked green. "Yes!" she said, pumping a fist in the air and placing her hands on her hips proudly, turning around to—

"Oh!"

Jaw dropped, Olive watched in horror as Otto dragged a white couch with dark green trimming back into the lab…completely covered in yellow grease stains, with stuffing poking out of a large gaping hole. _Otto? What did you do?_ "Wha… _what happened to Oscar?_ "

Otto grunted with effort. "Owen happened," was all he said.

Olive wrinkled her nose. _How did he—oh, no…what does this mean for Oscar when we get him turned back…?_ Shaking her head, she decided it would be best to focus on their task at hand instead. "Well, good news is, I got one number. Just two more left to open the briefcase."

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa!"

Stopping mid-run, Olive turned back to meet Otto's less-than-approving face. _What do you mean, "whoa whoa whoa"?_

"This time," he told her, " _I'm_ going to get the numbers, and _you're_ staying here to guard the couch." He made a face. "Trust me, it's…it's way harder than it looks." And with that, Otto strode out.

 _You couldn't explain a little better?_ "What do you mean, 'way harder'?" Olive called after him, but by then he was gone. Shrugging, Olive turned back around and—

Her heart stopped.

"Oh no," she gasped.

Too late, her mind put the pieces together. _Gah-_ _lee_ _, people around here will take_ _anything_ _if it's not nailed down!_ "Oscar?" she called belatedly, looking around. Could he even hear her in couch form? "Couch?" she tried again, desperately.

No use. _Oh dear, who's got him now?_ Olive wondered as she dashed out of the lab to go searching. _And what are they going to do to him?_ Sure, it was some comfort to remember how calmly Oscar had acted when he'd zapped himself with the gadget in the first place—even more calmly than Olive herself had when she found out what it did—having somehow managed to slip into his unfazed Training Video mode. And she hoped, if he was indeed self-aware right now, that he was likewise taking the mistreatment without panicking. But she still didn't like it. It felt like breaking a promise of protection by not guarding him as a couch.

At least it was another comfort to know later that her failure to keep an eye on him would help spare Oscar further punishment from Ms. O.

* * *

"Why don't you close your eyes?"

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Close your eyes."

"But why? I can't see you either way."

"I know. And that's the only thing you can focus on when your eyes are open." There was a pause. "But…if your eyes are closed, it doesn't matter. You'd never know I was invisible."

No reply.

"Just try it. Close your eyes."

"…"

"Close your eyes, Polly."

"Okay."

Polly closed her eyes.

Oz was right. As his arms enfolded her in his embrace, she could feel the thick fabric of his suit jacket, the warm skin of his fingers, the fuzzy prickle of his hair on her cheek, his shallow breath and rapid heart beat. Everything she couldn't see but could still feel that made him who he was.

And with her eyes closed, she'd never have known the difference.

* * *

November 27, 2015. Post-NIAOR. 3:51 PM.

"Your Honor? I'd like to call upon our next witness…Agent Oscar!"

All eyes in the court turned to the scientist, who along with several other agents was watching the proceedings from the gallery, set up in front of the ball room and break room. Suddenly aware of everyone staring at him, Oscar gulped and stood up. He _had_ seen Olive during her lunch break at 1:45. The question was, how well could he back her and Otto up?

 _This is my chance,_ he thought. _If I do this right, I could clear Olive's name right now._

Briskly he made his way up into the witness stand and took a seat. Higher up and in front now where everyone could see him, Oscar felt his stomach churning nervously, and he began to fidget. _Her career could hinge on what I say,_ he thought, trying to disguise his fidgeting by checking to make sure he wasn't sitting on his lab coat. _If I get even one thing wrong…_

Glancing up, Oscar saw Otto coming toward him, and immediately straightened up. _Well, at least Otto's questioning me first. He's been a really good lawyer so far today, I'm impressed._ So it was with a surge of confidence he gave his name as: "Daniel Berryman, heh!"

You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed.

Slowly Otto turned around to stare at him. "What?"

 _Did I do something wrong? Already?_ Leaning forward, Oscar whispered, "Didn't you say, 'state your favorite name'?"

Out of the corners of his eye, he was pretty sure he saw Dr. O gape, Olive sigh, Odd Todd roll his eyes, and Ms. O facepalm.

"Um, no," Otto whispered back, pointing a finger at him. "I said state _your_ name."

"Ohh! Er, Oscar. I'm Oscar!" he announced, feeling an embarrassed flush creeping up his neck. _Goodness, I sure can't let the rest of the day go like this._

Thankfully, Otto wasted no time steering everyone right back on course. "Alright, Oscar. Can you tell us where you were at one forty-five this afternoon?"

 _Okay, here we go. Get this right, for Olive's sake._ Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Oscar winked at her and easily answered, "Olive and I ate lunch at one forty-five!"

Olive smiled and nodded back. It had been one of those rare days where their lunch breaks coincided with each other's, and they had taken full advantage of the fact. And thankfully, Otto already knew about their relationship, so Oscar didn't have to worry about having anything to hide there. So far, his witness examination was going beautifully.

"The point Oscar's trying to make," Otto went on to the babies of the jury after taking a look at the pizza stains on Oscar's clothes (which had made Olive laugh at the time), "is that Olive was busy eating lunch. So, she couldn't have stolen the town museum." His part of the questioning done, Otto headed back to his seat in satisfaction. "Case," he finished to Odd Todd, "closed. Again."

But Todd slammed his hands on the tabletop and stood up. " _NOT_ so fast…"

Oscar thought he felt a fist clench his heart. _Uh-oh._

In the blink of an eye he was there, suddenly invading Oscar's personal space and forcing the scientist backward in his chair. "Oscar! Buddy!" he smiled coyly, getting straight to the cross-examination. "Where _did_ you and Olive have lunch?"

 _What is he trying to get at here?_ Oscar thought, peering down at him through his glasses. Looking at Olive he warily answered, "Uhh, at Debbie's Pizzeria."

Olive drew a sharp breath and glanced back and forth rapidly between him and Otto. Did _she_ know where Todd was going with this? _Oh no, what did I give away?_

Turning around, Todd went back to his counsel table and clicked open the locks on his briefcase. "I would like to submit into evidence—" he held up a laminated sheet encased inside a protective plastic sleeve "—this menu from Delivery Debbie's Pizza Place."

"It's 'Pizzeria'," Oscar corrected under his breath without thinking, confused. _How did Todd know we were there? He wouldn't've brought the menu unless…_

Distracted, Oscar took Todd's direction of reading the bottom line a little too literally. "Printed in China."

"Uh, no, not that. Little bit higher," Todd murmured, indicating with his multicolored elbow.

Of course. But in looking at the actual bottom line of the menu, Oscar became even more perplexed. _What does this have to do with him knowing where Olive and I were for lunch?_ "Don't forget to tip your server?" he read.

Instantly he felt the menu snatched out of his hand and thrust back in his face, with a pale finger jabbing at a single line of text. "No, _that._ Read _that!_ "

Oscar squinted at the text, squarely in the middle of the menu in big bold print. "Pizza delivered to your table in—"

 _He wouldn't've brought the menu unless…_

"—in one minute or less."

 _…unless he knew somehow exactly what we had ordered._ Oscar gripped the edge of the witness stand banister, a sinking feeling inside him as he watched Olive slowly close her eyes and exhale. _Oh, dear…_

"One minute or less," Odd Todd repeated, stepping over to his clock model to move the minute hand. "So that means the pizza must have come at one forty-six."

 _Wait a minute.._ Oscar saw his chance. Maybe Todd didn't actually know. After all, one minute was hardly enough to account for eating an entire pizza. "Well, yeah sure, but we still had to eat it!"

Olive's eyes shot open, and she nodded her approval.

But Todd wasn't done yet. "Right. And that must've taken a _while!_ " He started to walk back over, clearly feigning inquisitive nonchalance. "And…what did you order, exactly?"

Oscar's knuckles had turned white from gripping the banister so hard. Growing more and more nervous, he forced himself to let go, but now the released tension was making him fidget. "The…uh…er, the…the…" Oscar tried to casually put a hand to his mouth and muttered something unintelligible.

"I'm sorry," Todd said with a sickly smile, "I don't think our stenographer can hear you." He leaned a hand on Agent Olla's desk to emphasize his point, and she deliberately looked away.

Odd Todd was right, of course. Oscar had sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and he had just been asked a question. A sinking feeling settled in his gut. _So much for getting it right._ Shooting Olive an apologetic look, Oscar reluctantly answered, "Olive was in a rush, so…we had bite-sized pizzas."

"Oh! Really? You mean…" Making it back to the witness stand, Todd thrust a white plate with a tiny pepperoni pizza on it under his nose. "…like this one?"

Oscar blinked and moved back a little. _What have I done?_ "Um…y-y-yes?"

"Then _if_ it would please the babies," Todd declared, setting the plate down on the banister, "I would like to see how long it takes you to eat that bite-sized pizza."

Todd was good. Oscar had to give him that as he eyed the incriminating pizza with fear and revulsion. _If I speak, she is condemned. But if I stay silent, I am—_

" _IF_ IT WOULD PLEASE THE BABIES, OSCAR!"

It was then Oscar realized just how great the scope of Odd Todd's plan was. Obviously he had somehow framed Olive for a crime she didn't commit, but hidden underneath the obvious in plain sight was the reason why. Since his return, Todd's strikes had been few and far between, but _all_ had been completely different from one another, and _all_ had in some way targeted Olive. First he'd tried simply frightening her with his return at the museum, but that obviously hadn't worked. That fall he'd tried to indirectly put her out of work by releasing the ballcano, but they just set the weight right again. Then that winter he'd tried to get at her by turning everyone else she knew and loved (including Oscar himself) permanently invisible, but she tricked him into getting the Revisible-inator back. When pretending to be a good guy by twisting the truth with his bad lemonade didn't work, Todd resorted to attacking her outright with the Flip-Floppernator. He hadn't counted on Oscar fighting back.

But now, here was Todd fairly using the law, politics, and diplomacy to get rid of her. Worse, he'd taken his revenge on Oscar and backed him into a corner the scientist couldn't get out of if he tried. Which left him with no choice.

Slowly, Oscar picked up the tiny pizza. "I'm so, so sorry, Olive," he said sadly. _And I'm sorry, Otto, for letting all your hard work in defending her go to waste._

Otto didn't react, staring stoically ahead at Odd Todd, probably planning his next move as the defendant's lawyer. But Olive closed her eyes again and nodded, almost as if she were giving him her permission. " _It's okay, Oscar. Tell them the truth."_

Mere seconds later, the bite-sized pizza was gone.

The cross-examination done, Oscar's memory of what came after was blurred. He vaguely remembered Todd doing something with the clock, then being dismissed from the witness stand, and somewhere in between there was an oddly clear memory of Ms. O scratching her hair underneath the wig. But as he stumbled back into the gallery and took his seat next to Dr. O, all he could think about was letting Olive down.

 _I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry, Olive…I'm sorry I'm sorry forgive me I'm sorry sorry sorry…_

Dr. O noticed. "Hey," she whispered, putting a rough but well-meaning hand on his arm. "Don't be upset, you tried your best. Otto's smart, he'll prove Olive has an alibi."

"Yeah…" Oscar took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, but said nothing more.

 _At least Todd didn't ask me why Olive said she was in a rush. She'd never forgive me if I gave away her secret about Soundcheck._

* * *

Curious, Obfusco reached under the little Christmas tree on the corner of his desk and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in burlap sackcloth and twine. He carefully pulled on one of the strands of twine and the cloth fell away.

It was a potato.

But that wasn't all. Painstakingly carved on the bottom was a scrawled message: "Olaf says Merry Christmas!" with a little heart next to it.

Obfusco smiled, blushing a little. "Obfusco says Merry Christmas to you, too."

* * *

August 4, 2015. Post-NIAOR. 2:13 PM.

A day of anniversary for so many.

Also the day almost everyone on the squad caught the Jinx.

And the day Olive and Otto decided it would be funny to torture their significant others.

Initially they felt sorry for Oscar and Dr. O being forced back out into the field again, after nearly fifteen years of not working together as partners (and doing poorly when they _had_ worked together). Olive even took advantage of having the Jinx to send a few words of encouragement his way: "I know you're scared after everything that happened before, but _I_ wouldn't send you out into the field if I didn't believe in you with all my heart."

But when the two former partners came back with the Jinx Cube to cure everyone and each expressed an interest in solving another case for fun, Ms. O immediately consulted Olive and Otto. "Alright, you two," she said, pulling out a tablet. "Here's a list of all the odd cases that were phoned in today. Since you both know Oscar and Dr. O _very_ well—" she winked "—I'll let you decide what case you think they can handle."

Olive took the tablet, and she and Otto scrolled through the list. There were mundane odd cases, like a complaint about the discovery of a potentially poisonous green potato chip in a snack bag; marginally odd but definitely weird cases, like a compulsive obsession with some psychedelic kid's TV show called _The Love Ducks_ that only kids could see ("Um, don't pick that one," Ms. O quickly said); cases that weren't really odd at all and shouldn't have been called in in the first place, like a wedding ring that somehow rolled inside a church organ…

And then Otto spotted the Laser Chickens.

They looked at each other. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Otto asked, raising an eyebrow.

Olive scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, partner! That's the meanest thing we could do to two inexperienced agents, let alone our S.O.'s!" Then she grinned mischievously. "Of course I'm thinking what you're thinking."

Two hours later, Oscar and Dr. O arrived back in headquarters panting and completely worn out, their lab coats covered in feathers and scorch marks. Angrily the doctor marched right up to Otto and declared, "I'm a doctor, not a Laser Chicken expert like your partner!" while Oscar could only gape at Olive with a helpless sort of understood _why_. But Olive and Otto were too busy laughing their heads off to reply.

* * *

"I don't get it. How can you not think Luke is her father?"

"Ah, but you forget you never watched the _Clone Wars_ series, Oprah. There's a duchess in a few of the episodes who says she's in love with Obi-Wan. Maybe they secretly had a child during the war and—"

"But Rey's only, like, twenty!"

"Well, right, Obi-Wan would have to be her grandfather. I was _going_ to say that maybe their secret child had another child, and _that's_ who Rey is. Besides, didn't you hear the voice that spoke to her when she took the lightsaber? It was both Sir Alec Guinness _and_ Ewan McGregor, the guys who each played Obi-Wan. Admit it, there's no way it's a coincidence!"

"Not so fast. Why do you think Leia sent Rey to find Luke instead of going herself? The only reason Leia wouldn't have gone is if she knew there was someone who could make a bigger impact on him. And who would be more perfect than his daughter?"

"Come on, how would Leia know that? And Rey doesn't have to be his daughter to make an impact. Kylo Ren said he recognized her, so maybe she was a Jedi Academy student who escaped. Plus, wouldn't it be totally sweet if she and Kylo were recreating the lightsaber battle their grandfathers had in the very first movie?"

"It would be even more sweet if Rey and Kylo were cousins who represent the conflicting light and dark sides of _their_ grandfather, Anakin Skywalker. Because that would mean it falls to _them_ to bring balance to the Force."

O'Donahue opened his mouth, then stopped, realizing he had absolutely no answer to that. Triumphant, Oprah held out her arm and mimed dropping a mic. The two of them laughed.

"Well, guess this means we just _gotta_ go see the next movie when it comes out, right?"

"The release date isn't for, like, another two years. It's supposed to be Christmas of 2017 before it comes out."

"Then we'll just have to stay together for another two years, huh, baby doll?"

"Only two years?" Oprah snuggled closer to him as they stood outside the movie theater, watching their breath make clouds in the chilly December night air. "You forget, I'm gonna need your help in about four years getting Carol's 130th birthday present. She wanted a 'wonderrific Little Red Riding Hood autograph', and I'm clueless about how to go about making that happen. Why couldn't she have just asked for an autograph from Bootsy the Cat or someone like that?"

"Soooo…this means we'll stay together for _four_ more years?"

Oprah reached up and swatted his cheek with one purple mittened hand. "After 150? Oh, please. I'll want you around _much_ longer than _that._ "

O'Donahue laughed and hugged her tighter, nearly burying her in his puffy coat. "Me too, baby doll. Me, too."

* * *

December 10, 2015. Pre-OINFO. 6:00 PM.

It had been Oscar's idea to go bowling.

Celebrating birthdays sure was strange when you only aged once every handful of years. Olive didn't feel all that much older—and a good thing, too, because next year for sure she'd be thirteen and too old for Odd Squad unless she switched over to a non-aging plan—and hadn't wanted a huge party or anything. Sure, Otto and Octavia joined forces and convinced Oksana to make a cake to serve in the cafeteria, and several agents she knew and worked with stopped by her desk throughout the day to wish her happy birthday and give the occasional card. And yeah, naturally she left work a little early to go home and quietly celebrate with her family. But other than that, Olive wasn't like her outgoing partner—a huge party with tons of people and presents just wasn't her scene.

Still, since the day of the near-Timetastrophe, Oscar insisted the three of them "oughta at least go bowling or something!" and Olive admitted the idea was too cute to turn down. It would have been four, too, but as it turned out Ms. O had a prior engagement with one former Agent O'Donahue, and everyone agreed not to even try and interrupt _that_. Although it sure was nice of Ms. O to cover the cost of three "12  & Under" passes for three hours at the bowling alley.

The trio had a blast, of course. Olive won the most games, but Otto managed the highest score in a single round after somehow pulling off a turkey with three strikes in a row. (Oscar, meanwhile, got the most consecutive gutterballs with fifty-three. "YEAH! Almost got 'em that time! Your days are _numbered_ , pins!" to which Olive was forced to facepalm.)

But the best part was yet to come…

"For the record," Olive claimed as the boys covered her eyes and began leading her somewhere after finishing the last match, "I know perfectly well you guys are taking me to the back room of the bowling alley!"

"Oh, really?" Oscar asked, nonplussed. "What makes you say that?"

"Duh, because it's where all their parties are held."

Otto smoothly jumped in with, "Then how do you explain… _this?_ " And with that, he and Oscar took their hands off Olive's eyes to reveal…

"Ha! Joke's on you, Olive, because it _is_ the bowling alley's party room!"

Olive rolled her eyes. Oscar laughed.

"But seriously," Otto went on, "did you expect us to decorate it like…this?"

And with that, he threw open the doors.

Her jaw dropped. _Oh, wow… No. No, I didn't._

Instead of the Burly Bears paraphernalia she'd imagined, Olive found herself looking at polaroids. Tons, and tons, and _tons_ of polaroids. Strands of them strung around the walls. Spherical paper lanterns covered in them hanging from the ceiling. Taped underneath the warm, flickering lights of makeshift candle sconces. A group of them arranged to spell out her name on the center table where the sweets buffet was arranged. As she took a step closer for a better look, Olive realized that all of the polaroids were pictures of her with the boys—cases she and Otto had solved, cases she and Oscar had solved before then, cases the three of them had worked on together, and candid shots of special moments they'd shared outside of work. Even the small vanilla cake in the center of the buffet was emblazoned with an edible photo of none other than the infamous selfie Oscar took of the trio after the boiler room incident.

"Wow…" she breathed, floored. "You guys…this place is… _amazing._ You really shouldn't have. It's only a birthday party."

"But it's _your_ birthday party, heh!" Oscar countered, poking her on the nose.

While Olive giggled, Otto darted over to a side table and came back with a sealed dark blue envelope addressed to her. "Now, before we get to the cake," he explained, all but shoving it under her nose, "you gotta read this first."

Taking the envelope, Olive slid her finger under and lifted up the flap, pulling out a green card with red sparkly designs on it.

"It's f-from both of us," Oscar said. "We made it ourselves."

"It looks beautiful." Olive smiled at them and opened the card. She read aloud:

" _Like berries, friends often come in bunches  
Some are large, some are small  
If you find you cannot use your hunches  
Find the one that stands for all."_

 _"Thanks for being our 'one' and our best friend! Have a wonderful birthday._

 _With love from Otto and Oscar."_

Olive put a hand to her mouth and gasped. "Aww, guys you shouldn't have! This is so sweet!" She folded the card shut and looked up. "Math-based poem about friendship…did you happen to borrow this from those three kids who solve problems in that parallel universe?"

Otto looked at Oscar. "Are they those three honorary agents you told me about?"

"Matthew, Jacqueline, and Inés? Yeah, if only they were around in _this_ universe more often. Although it's _kinda_ hard to make their names start with O." Oscar cleared his throat nervously. "Um, anyways, yes! We, er, kinda borrowed that one, heh…"

"It's alright, I love this. Thank you both so much." Setting down the card, Olive took a step forward and gave them both a single hug. Otto, her partner and practically her younger brother, and Oscar…so much more. "What would I ever do without you two?"

"Um, absolutely nothing?" Oscar offered.

"He's right, your life is too boring without us," Otto chimed in, striking a ridiculous pose.

Olive lost it and guffawed. Oscar soon followed, then finally Otto, and before long all three of them were too busy laughing, as all old friends should.

It was one of the last special moments for the trio to ever share together.

* * *

Three weeks later, Ms. O got the phonecall.


	42. Part 4: Blue Ships

X X X

* * *

 **Part 4: Shipwreck**

 ** _December 31, 2015 - January 2, 2016_**

* * *

X X X

* * *

Featured Episodes and Stories:

"O is Not For Over"

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* * *

In a haze of stormy haze

I'll be round, I'll be loving you always, always.

Here I am and I take my time

Here I am and I'll wait in line always

Always.

 _— Coldplay, "Parachutes"_


	43. (Epilogue) The Farewell

**A/N Due to time constraints (I leave the country for a mission trip in one hour), I can't give everyone a shoutout by name at the moment. (Except for a thank-you to my sister Elena for proofreading a story she could honestly care less about. :P) But I want to send a huge, heartfelt thank-you to everyone who has stuck with me throughout this gigantic, unprecedented project of mine. You all are the best, and it's because of you that I willingly gave up hours upon hours upon _hours_ of sleep every night since November 26 to get just one more chapter done. It's because of you that I endured depression, writer's block, and nights where I just went bats*** INSANE, or at least felt like it, tearing out my hair and such, trying to figure out how to keep going on this. It's because of you that I never gave up, even when it felt so hard that I couldn't finish. Thank you all so, so, SO incredibly much. You have no clue just how much you helped me achieve this goal. I will miss this adventure so much, but I have no regrets. Thanks again, all of you.**

 **Now what are you waiting for? Go enjoy the epilogue. :')**

* * *

IN LOVING MEMORY OF LAILA

WHO FOUGHT IN THE NAME OF **ODD SQUAD** UNTIL THE VERY END

OLIVE AND OTTO WILL FOREVER HAVE A PLACE FOR YOU

* * *

Epilogue: The Farewell

"There you are, Oscar. I know it's late, but I need your advice on a matter."

"That's what I'm here for, heh!" Grabbing the lapels of his lab coat, Oscar scooted around to his usual spot behind Ms. O's desk. "Now, what's so important you sent everyone else home early for? Are you getting another pet? Need a last-minute New Year's Resolution idea?"

Ms. O shook her head solemnly. "No, Oscar. This is different."

His smile faded. "Wh-what is it?"

"Mr. O called, from the next squad over in Montréal. He announced that he's officially retiring." She turned in her swivel chair to face him. "But Orville isn't confident any of his agents are qualified enough to replace him." They both rolled their eyes. "A little while ago he called to tell me all this, and asked if I thought any of _my_ agents might be up for the job."

Oscar didn't say anything to betray his thoughts, but it seemed to Ms. O that somehow he knew where this was going. "So you want me to help you decide who?"

Instead of replying outright, Ms. O asked him the obvious question. "Who do you feel are the best agents on our squad?"

There was no hesitation in his response. "Olive and Otto."

"Exactly." Ms. O motioned to one of the wooden chairs. "Take a seat, Oscar. We have a lot to discuss.

"I want to promote Olive," she went on after he sat down. "She's been on the squad for over fourteen years now, and since the pienado attack she's more than proved her worth for the job. I've assigned Olive the most dangerous cases and put her in charge of my office twice, and she's always exceeded my expectations. She's persistent, savvy, determined..."

"...skilled, promising, ambitious, capable, and _worthy_ ," Oscar finished quietly. "Of—of course she's ready to be p-promoted."

Internally, Ms. O sighed with relief. _He understands._ "Good, we're on the same page! Now, listen up: tomorrow I'm going to call her and Otto up to the office and explain to them what I told you. Then I want you to zap her with the Ms.O-inator so you can begin training her immediately, while I get Otto partnered with that recruit who more or less finished his training here today." Reaching into her filing cabinet, she pulled out a purple laminated handbook and handed it to Oscar. "Here's a checklist with instructions on how and in what order you'll need to train her tomorrow. Most important will be choosing her signature drink, passing the O Test, and a crash course in Odd Karate. As my adviser you can supervise almost all of these, but when you get to a highlighted training activity, like office protocol, bring Olive up to me and I'll take care of it—"

"Ms. O?"

She stopped. _Uh-oh, I knew this would happen._ "Yes, Oscar?"

"I j-just had a question, th-that's all." After a pause he blurted out, "Are you sure it's a good idea to separate Olive and Otto? I-I-I mean, they _are_ the p-perfect team together, heh."

Oscar had a good point. Ms. O recalled her recent visit with her old boss Olesya, in which the latter had revealed to her that she'd technically been qualified for the Management position since Old Missie's retirement back in 1925—it was because of her too-perfect partnership with O'Donahue that neither Old Missie nor Olesya had wanted to split them up. And sure enough, true to their fears, things had not gone well when they _were_ finally split up. However, while this was still a valid concern with Olive and Otto, Ms. O honestly wasn't terribly worried about what might happen. Olive and Otto shared a different, more flexible bond with each other than she'd shared with O'Donahue, and Otto would probably be able to handle having a new partner more easily. And even if he wanted to stay with Olive and take up an adviser role instead, Ms. O could always find a replacement partner for Ohlm and make it work.

 _But Oscar and I both know that's not what he meant when he asked that. Because_ _he's_ _the one who shares the same bond with Olive that I do with O'Donahue._

"We can sort that out with Otto later," Ms. O said, giving him a reassuring smile that had nothing to do with what she'd just said and everything to do with what she'd just thought. "In the meantime, why don't you go look over the Mr./Ms. O Training Handbook so you're prepared? Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

"Yes, Ms. O!" A mixed look on his face, Oscar briskly got up and carried the handbook out of the office into the darkened headquarters below.

Ms. O sat back in her chair and sipped at her final juicebox for the night. _Oh, dear. What'll happen tomorrow really will change everything. I sure hope I know what I'm about to do…_

* * *

" _...I hope you say yes, because I don't have an Un-Ms.O-inator, heh..."_

The radiant smile on her face was one pang.

" _...EEEEEEEEEI'MSOEXCITED—! Is the skirt a must or are pants an option...?"_

" _...Oscar will explain that, and go over the rest of your training..."_

The squeals and jumping up and down were another pang.

" _...Wow! Olive's becoming a Ms. O…"_

" _...I can't believe I'll get to run my own Odd Squad. Me…!"_

But for Oscar, it was the eyes that did him in.

Oh, her eyes.

Luminous brown irises of vast depths, flecked with brilliant gold, sparkling as they always did. Since day one, Oscar had lost himself and found himself in those gorgeous eyes, sparkling with emotion, sealing his heart inside.

Until today, when the way they sparkled broke that heart in two.

Worse, he was only too happy for her.

 _Come on, Oscar, act!_ he imagined Olive's voice reminding him over and over. _Act, like you often acted before!_ And act he did, like he'd had to do up until and even after the boiler room incident. _Nonchalant and congratulatory._ That was what he decided to aim for.

And now, it was time to put that to the test as Oscar brought her to the array of drinks he'd laid out earlier. "Alright, Olive," he began, putting on a passively serious air. "The first and most important part of becoming a Ms. O...is your signature drink." Then he switched back to what he hoped was more light-hearted. "I mean, you'll have to drink it for years and years and years and years and _years_ , so please make a good choice, heh!"

Olive raised her eyebrows at all the options. "Hmm. Makes sense." After a moment, she selected the dirt with water, and Oscar nodded his approval. _Good choice!_ he thought.

Tasting it, Olive suddenly choked. "Eugh, what is this?" she spluttered.

 _Okay, maybe not so good a choice._ "Dirt with water! I-I wanted to give you all options, I guess..." _And look how that turned out. Nice going, Oscar._

But instead of shooting him an annoyed look, Olive gave him a half smile. He noticed her eyes were sad. "Hey," she said softly, absentmindedly stirring the muddy liquid. "I...um...I mean, do you think Otto's doing okay with his new partner?"

Oscar's heart sank. Of course her main concern was for her now-former partner, as well it should be. _Oh come on, none of that now, pull yourself together!_ "Oh, pssh, sure!" he assured her, a little too quickly. "I mean, Otto gets along with _everybody._ I bet they're attached at the hip by now."

Little did either of them know just how ironically accurate that last statement was, but Oscar definitely caught the face Olive made when he said 'everybody', and he knew they were both thinking the same thing: _#introvertprobs._ Yet as the selection process went on, Oscar found it harder and harder to resist spilling everything out to her right then and there. _Is she so excited that none of this has occurred to her yet, the way I can't stop thinking about it now? Does she care more about her job than she does for…?_

 _Oh, no. Isn't this how she felt when_ I _was promoted?_

 _Oh, dear…_

Finally, after Olive picked herbal tea as her signature drink, they got to the O Test part, and Oscar could more easily block all of this out by focusing on the lecturing and testing her memory. _It's for the best, anyhow. This is an important time for her, and I don't want to ruin it by giving anything away. I hope we get the chance to talk things out about what this means for us, but if we don't...I'll just keep acting. She doesn't need to worry about my issues right now._

Unbeknownst to Oscar, his acting didn't fool Olive for a minute.

* * *

Evening fell. Olive finally got through her training in time to make it to the fourth quarter of the Bears basketball game, where she learned from Otto the disturbing news of what Odd Todd's next scheme was supposed to be. ("Trying to hurt me by corrupting you?" She shuddered. "Boy, am I glad you're not stupid enough to fall for his lies. We have to inform Ms. O.") And when they got back to headquarters and told Ms. O, the three of them got together with Oscar and came up with a plan to turn the tables and fool Todd into thinking his scheme was not only working, but going too far. So after the creature gadgets were invented (plus labeled as "confirmed-to-be-working") and other agents filled in on the plan, Otto arranged to pay a visit to Todd's evil lair in the morning, and everyone went home for the night.

But not Olive.

Long after the lights had powered down and the building emptied of kids, Olive sat at her old desk, staring at the computer screen. This new Agent Ohlm's stuff was already strewn about the area, and her picture slideshows had already been moved to the recycling bin. But it didn't take her too long to dig them out and restore them again. See, Todd's would-be evil plot had gotten her thinking. Now that she was alone, it was starting to sink in for the first time that she only had one more day and one more case to solve with all her friends and coworkers from the past several years—the only ones she had ever known. And she wanted to take some time to relive all of those memories before it was too late. So it was the slideshow with pictures of her and Otto that she found herself scrolling through first.

"You two were a good team, you know."

Olive started and whirled around. "Dr. O! What are you still doing here?"

Dr. O didn't answer. "I don't think either of you realize how good you had it with each other," she went on, her voice sounding even more stiff than it normally did. "No one else on Odd Squad has seen a partnership as good as yours was. It'll be hard on us all when you leave him tomorrow and you're officially not partners anymore."

"But...I mean, you'll still have him as an agent, won't you…?"

Suddenly Olive saw something she never thought she'd see before. As Dr. O pulled up a swivel chair and sat down to face her, there were two small tears on each cheek. _Dr. O...crying?_

"It wouldn't be a team anymore if you two were split up. Which is why I say—" she exhaled "—I say Otto should go with you."

Olive couldn't find the words to speak.

"He hasn't been trained, no, but we both know he learns fast. I think he could handle it."

 _It's true. He's learned in two years what took me fifteen_. In some strange way, she understood the doctor's logic for once. In the course of their partnership over the past two years, Otto had had such a huge impact on her life. Since the day they accidentally created the vortex, Olive had resolved to let him loosen her up a little, and their influence on each other strengthened both their partnership and their bond as best friends and practically siblings. _We defined each other. He helped me realize that being serious isn't everything to being a successful agent, and he helped me discover who I was after Todd left and Oscar...well, that whole mess. Dr. O's right. Without Otto there, I might revert back to who I was before…_

"Wait!" She sat up straighter. "Why do _you_ want him to leave?"

The tears on Dr. O's face kept coming. "He needs to be happy with you. He needs to work alongside you. And he won't admit it because he's happy you deserve this, but he's going to miss working with you in the days to come unless you invite him to be your co-Manager. And the same goes for you, too." She tried a smile. "Otto and I, we'd still see each other sometimes. We can work things out." There was a pause, and she tried to muster up her normal seriousness. "But if anyone asks, I'm a doctor, not a therapist." And before Olive could say anything more, the doctor was gone.

Olive mulled over what Dr. O had said for awhile.

 _I'll talk to Ms. O and Oscar about it tomorrow morning, while Otto pays his visit to Todd._

That done, she closed out of Otto's picture slideshow and opened up Oscar's.

 _Oh, God…_

Now the tears were streaming down _her_ face.

Muffled behind layers of walls, Olive could hear the noises of Oscar moving creatures out of their creature rooms.

 _I can't bring everyone. Some people I'll have to say goodbye to._

* * *

There was a little bit of precious free time after everyone got into position outside their assigned creature doors at 1:05:30 the following afternoon. Time after Oscar got back from checking in with Otto and the spy sunglasses, but before Todd arrived in the hallways. Time in which Olive did the hardest thing of her life.

"Oscar?"

He turned around. Though he tried to hide it, there was no mistaking the hidden hurt in his soft brown eyes. "Oh, hey Olive! Wh-what's up, heh?"

"Just...walk with me. For a little while."

"Y-y'know we don't have a lot of time, r-right?"

"I know. This...this won't take long."

"Okay."

They began walking down the Hall of Doors. Olive waited until they were around the corner and out of earshot from the other agents, then took a deep breath and went straight to the elephant in the room. "We need to talk about us."

Oscar didn't look at her. "Wh-what do you mean?"

Olive stopped and took him by the shoulders so that they were face-to-face. "You know very well what I mean, Oscar! Today I'm going to start a new step in my career in Montréal, and if he says yes, Otto's coming with me, too. But you—you won't be." Now it was her turn to look away. "After all that we've been through...I just, I..." She forced herself to look back up at him again, and didn't even try to blink back the tears escaping her eyes. "You helped Ms. O decide to promote me, didn't you? What's been going on in that mind of yours? Anything? Anything about me and you at all?" _Because if not, your silent accepting will break my heart._

For several seconds stretching into hours, Oscar pressed his lips together in a flat line. Then he sighed. "Too much, heh. See, I-I-I don't w-want you to leave," he said, his voice cracking on the word _want_. "But I want you to go far. I...I kn-know if you do, it'll kill our...our..."

Olive nodded and, like Dr. O the night before, tried to smile. "So you agree with me. That we need to—you know."

"Break up?"

"If it—if it can be called that, yeah. I don't—want to, but...yeah."

"I don't either." Reaching up, Oscar took Olive's hands off his shoulders and squeezed them. She noticed the lenses on his glasses were a little misty, and his cheeks too were a little wet. "But staying together...it wouldn't be good for your work."

"Nor for yours. Ms. O needs you here more than I ever would there."

"Yeah. And you'll have O'Quinncy, anyhow."

They both chuckled a little, knowing full well how _that_ was going to turn out.

"I don't know if we could've continued this much longer, anyhow," Olive admitted after that. "I mean...Ms. O and O'Donahue are one thing, but...I feel like we were going to need time apart by now, regardless of whether I was promoted or not. We—we need some time to be kids, while we've got the time. And we can do it. I dunno, but it's not like we needed each other to define who we were. Not these past few years, at least." She laughed a little, realizing how analytical and preachy that sounded. "Sorry, I sound like a school teacher."

"No, you're right." He took a shuddering breath. "Still...y-you're the best thing that's h-happened to me, and—"

"Oh no, same, absolutely!" Olive hurriedly agreed. "Even when we—well, even when I hated you for that awful year, I...I wouldn't trade one day for anything. Not one day." She tried to brush away another tear, but quickly gave up. _Pull yourself together, Olive. You don't have much time until Otto and Todd get back here, and you can't be a mess when that happens!_

A fresh tear rolled down Oscar's cheek, too. "N-neither would I, heh. Neither would I." Letting go of her hands, he slowly wrapped his arms around her, and she did the same, burying her wet face in his shirt, one of his hands intertwining in her hair.

For a while they held each other like that, not speaking a word. Savoring the last moment they might ever have alone together.

And then Ms. O's hissing whisper echoed down the corridor. "Places, everyone! They're on their way back now!"

Olive quickly pulled away. "We should go."

Oscar nodded. "Yeah," he said in a husky voice, quickly wiping his spectacles. "We'll still keep in touch, right? Y'know, just as friends."

"Otto turns eleven next week," she reminded him with a smile. "I'll look forward to it. Just as friends."

"Yeah. Just as friends."

"Yeah."

A pause. Neither wanted to go.

"Olive! Oscar! Your doors, _now!_ "

They looked at each other one last time. Their eyes full of so much.

Olive felt a strange new impulse coming on. Her instincts wanted to push it away.

 _We don't have to be 'just friends' yet._

And then, she did something that surprised herself.

* * *

With a flick of his wrist, Oscar switched off the Mr.O-inator and brought it down, watching Otto expectantly. _Please say yes. There's no Un-Mr.O-inator, and Olive'll kill you if you don't._

While Otto was still clearly trying to wrap his brain around the new purple suit, Ms. O chose that moment to make her entrance. "Whaddya say, Otto?" she asked, beaming. "You up for the job?"

Incredulous, Otto looked back and forth from her to Olive to Oscar and back again. "Are you saying," he worked it out slowly, "Olive and I get to run our own squad _together_ , as Mr. and Ms. O?"

 _Well, yeah, kind of._ Oscar nodded emphatically along with Olive and Ms. O.

And then Otto said something only Otto would say. Shooting Olive a suddenly wary look: "Wait. Does this mean we have to be married?"

Oscar froze. _What…?_

Luckily, Olive's reaction was instant and priceless. " _What?!_ _NO_ _! ! !_ Don't make this weird," she warned, pointing at him as he sighed with relief. Oscar was relieved, too, but he almost thought it was even funnier that Ms. O didn't so much as bat an eye.

With that matter settled, there was no longer any question as to what Otto would do. "I accept the job," he said, shaking Ms. O's hand.

 _Thank goodness,_ Oscar thought with a genuine smile. _As always, you both will work well together._

So naturally Otto chose that moment to monologue. "It's just...I'm gonna miss you guys so much. You guys were like a family to me, like—a door to my heart. Ms. O, you were like the key—"

 _Okay, wherever you're going with this Otto, I'm stopping you right now because I've been emotional enough today. And I think you've forgotten one thing…_ "Otto, we're gonna see you next Saturday at your birthday party," Oscar interrupted, holding up the party invitation Olive had reminded him of earlier.

Olive opened her mouth and closed it again with an eyeroll, while Otto's eyes widened as he remembered. "Oh yeah..."

"Enough chitchat!" Ms. O cut in, as she always did. "Now, am I gonna get a hug from you guys or what?"

The two partners smiled. Ms. O smiled back. And the three of them embraced.

Standing off to the side, Oscar watched. He wanted to join, but… _Oh screw it, I'm gonna regret this if I don't!_ With a little chortle he ran forward and quickly joined in the group hug. But it only took one second before the emotions started coming back, and Oscar started fidgeting.

To think he'd promised to never let her go again...

 _Never mind_ , he thought, quickly pulling away. _I can't. Not after she…_ So he left the three of them to it and hurried behind the Tube Lobby console, where he knew he'd soon be needed.

Eventually Olive and Otto pulled away, too. Ms. O looked between them, her smile full of a bittersweet motherly pride. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she told them one last time. "Go."

Olive looked up and heaved a sigh, still smiling, her golden-brown eyes glistening. She was trying so hard not to cry again. Then she and Otto stepped up to the platform and took their place in the tubes, looking around at the old familiar headquarters one last time. Oscar watched as Olive took another breath to calm her emotions, but Otto was dry-eyed and eager. _I wonder how he and Opal are taking it between the two of them. Not that she'll tell me. Heh, I guess I'll probably never know._

Ms. O nodded at him. _That's my cue_. "Preparing to squishinate!" he called, reaching for—the wrong buttons. "Whoops, other ones," he muttered, reaching back over to his right to push the correct ones. He liked to think Olive was nervously remembering his story about his ill-fated days as a Tube Operator.

Olive and Otto looked at each other and smiled. They looked at Ms. O, whose face was unreadable. Then they looked at him.

Oscar caught his breath as for a split second his and her eyes met. Each one had a bittersweet tear in it.

He could still feel the ghost of her lips on his.

 _Goodbye, Olive. I wish you well with all my heart._

 _Take care of her, Otto. I'm counting on you._

"...Squishinating," he said softly.

And with the push of another button, she was gone.

Oscar watched their purple balls whoosh through the tubes as long as he could. _There go the best agents we ever had._

Until fifteen seconds later heralded the arrival of Agent Olympia and Agent Otis.

Grasping his lapels, Oscar allowed himself a trademark grin.

Olive had been right.

It was time to move on.

* * *

Boy

There are times

When being apart

Even across the vast reaches of the cosmos

Is the only way

To truly come together.

— _Agent Olive, Soundcheck, "The Force of Gravity"_

* * *

X X X

* * *

 **[EDIT: So today it is May 19, 2017, almost a year after I put up the epilogue, and I am still astonished at how popular this story has become and remained over the past year. So much so that I have republished it on Wattpad and added photo covers to each chapter! Thus, as we have come to the end of Part 3 and "Ships Ahoy!" itself, I would now _finally_ like to extend a long-deserved thank-you by name to Azz-rosez/Sabrina Kelly, Narwhalroo32, Lily, MinecraftDanny's cousin, aliceine, Perilheart, Agent0002, AmbidextrousDrummer, indiacaly, Guest, Dr. Pickle 22, TheLivingMe, Flying Saucers, Ravenpuff, My Panicked Romance, Camilia, BookButterfly11, Jamie Jonez, a reader, 15Acesplz, RCMountie, hotammy38, Basil Grey, trauzlly, (and from Wattpad) JonathanEllison, -weirdos, qwertypop246, CarryOnMyFreeBirdPie, SnoopyDragons, nessa_462, darkspectrum, winterlilliana, iloveoddtodd, I-am-sick-as-frick, Iliketoesubdjb, Oddly-Todd, saras369, - , hjengland, and (everyone else who voted or added it to their reading list that I don't know about because Wattpad won't tell me who y'all are *rolls eyes*) for reviewing/favoriting/following this story since the beginning of Part 3, and another thank-you to everyone else who'd been here before then! Again, I seriously could not have done this without you all.**

 **And if you're looking for something else to read after this, I strongly urge you to check out "Full Circle" by Agent0002. It's a sequel to this story that I have both endorsed and edited, which picks up right after _Odd Squad: The Movie_ ends and explores the relationship between Olive and Oscar after both of their promotions. Please go support it!]**


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